AUTOBIOGRAPHXI 


LOIiDfllRBERToFClIERBURY 


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CHOICE  AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 

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This  series  of  the  best  autobiographies  is  prepared  especially 
for  family  reading.  Each  life  is  prefaced  with  a  critical  and 
biographical  essay  by  Mr.  Howells,  in  which  the  sequel  of  the 
author's  history  is  given,  together  with  collateral  matter  from 
other  sources,  illustrative  of  his  period  and  career.  In  some 
cases  the  autobiographies  are  reduced  in  bulk  by  the  rejection 
of  uninteresting  and  unimportant  matter.  It  is  designed  to 
include  in  the  series  the  famous  autobiographies  of  all  lan- 
guages, and  to  offer  in  a  compact  and  desirable  edition  aU  that 
is  best  in  this  most  charming  of  all  literature. 


JAMES  E.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston. 


A  UTOBIO  GRAPH  Y. 


LIVES 


OF 


LORD    HERBERT    OF    CHERBURY 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD. 


WITH   ESSAYS 


By  WILLIAM  D.  HOWELLS. 


nOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1877. 


COPYRIGHT. 

W.    D.    HOWELLS. 

1877. 


University  Press  :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


SANTA  BARBARA 


THE   LIFE   OF 


EDWAED  LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY. 


TO  THE  MOST  NOBLE 

HENRY    AETHUR    HERBERT, 

EAUL  OF  POWIS, 

VISCODNT   LUDLOW,   LOED   HERBEET   OF  CHERBURY,  BAEOJJ   POWIS  AND 

LUDLOW, 

AND   TEEASUEEE  OF  HIS  MAJESTY'S  HOUSEHOLD. 

My  Lord, 

Permit  rae  to  offer  to  your  Lordsliip  in  this  more  durable 
manner  the  very  valuable  present  I  received  from  your  bands. 
To  your  Lordship  your  great  ancestor  owes  bis  revival ;  and 
suffer  me,  my  Lord,  to  tell  the  world  what  does  you  so  much 
honor,  you  have  given  him  and  me  leave  to  speak  truth ;  an 
indulgence  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  few  descendants  of  heroes 
have  minds  noble  enough  to  allow. 

Hitherto  Lord  Herbert  has  been  little  known  but  as  an 
author.  I  much  mistake  if  hereafter  he  is  not  considered  as 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  characters  which  this  country 
has  produced.  Men  of  the  proudest  blood  shall  not  blush  to 
distinguish  themselves  in  letters  as  weU  as  arms,  when  they 
learn  what  excellence  Lord  Herbert  attained  in  both.  Your 
Lordship's  lineage  at  least  will  have  a  pattern  before  their  eyes 
to  excite  their  emulation :    aud  while  they  admire  the  piety 


vni  DEDICATION. 

with  wliich  you  have  done  justice  to  your  common  ancestor, 
they  cannot  he  forgetful  of  the  obligation  they  will  have  to 
your  Loi'dship's  memory  for  transmitting  to  them  this  record 
of  his  glory. 

I  have  the  honor  to  he, 

My  Lord, 
Your  Lordship's 

most  obedient, 
and  most  obliged  servant, 

HORACE  WALPOLE. 


EDWARD    LORD   HERBERT. 


|N  many  passages  the  autobiography  of  Lord 
Herbert  is  of  a  style  so  clianning,  and  of  a 
manner  and  matter  so  singularly  characteristic 
of  his  order,  age,  and  nation,  that  one  might 
easily  believe  it  written  by  some  skilful  student  of  the 
period,  with  a  tacit  modern  consciousness  of  the  won- 
derful artistic  success  of  the  study.  As  you  read,  you 
cannot  help  thinking  now  and  then  that  Thackeray 
himself  could  not  have  done  it  better,  if  he  had  been 
minded  to  portray  a  gentleman  of  the  first  James's  time. 
Yet  this  picture,  so  frank,  so  boldly  colored,  so  full  of 
the  very  life  of  a  young  English  noble,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  instances  of  self-portraiture  in  any 
language,  in  the  absence  of  that  consciousness  which 
the  momentarily  bewildered  sense  attributes  to  it ;  its 
great  value  to  the  reader  of  our  day  is,  that  the  author 
sits  to  himself  as  unconstrainedly  as  if  posterity  sliould 
never  come  to  look  over  his  shoulder,  and  all  liis  atti- 
tudes and  expressions  are  those  of  natural  ease.  A 
rare  sincerity  marks  the  whola  meinoii-,  and  gives  it  the 
grace  of  an  antique  simplicity.  Wlicre  Lord  Herbert 
praises  his  own  courage,  and  tells  \Aith  full  cu-cumstan- 


2  EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT. 

Rtancos  of  liis  feats  of  anns,  you  feel  that  he  is  hut  doing 
himself  justice,  aud  are  uo  more  disposed  to  smile  than 
if  you  liad  heard  of  his  prowess  from  another.  He  is 
equally  frank  as  to  his  faults  and  his  virtues  ;  if  the 
latter  outnumher  the  former  in  his  count,  you  are  jjretty 
certain  that  he  has  not  erred.  He  is  the  farthest  re- 
move from  a  coxcomh  in  this  story  of  his  life,  though 
some  of  the  actions  he  records  wei'e  reckless  and  even 
foolhardy,  and  his  morals  are  often  of  the  worldliest  sort. 
Honor,  not  righteousness,  was  his  first  care  ;  he  was  at 
any  time  ready  to  die  for  the  respect  due  him  from  other 
men  ;  Init  what  he  exacted,  he  endeavored  fairly  to 
render  again,  though  rather  as  the  ohligation  of  a  gen- 
tleman than  as  the  duty  of  a  Christian.  Indeed  he  was 
110  Christian  at  all.  He  wrote  a  hook  to  prove  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  direct  revelation,  tluMigh  he 
prayed  for  a  sign  from  heaven  hefore  he  puhlished  his 
hook,  — -an  inconsistency  is  not  grosser  than  others  of 
his,  or  those  of  other  men.  He  loved  virtue,  and  he 
expressly  de(dares  that  goodness  is  to  he  preferred  hefore 
knowledge,  since  it  will  make  one's  way  "hetter  hoth 
to  hapi)iness  in  this  world  and  the  next."  He  was  not 
a  Christian,  and  yet  he  was  deeply  religious,  and  tliere 
is  a  vein  of  sweet,  manly  seriousness  running  through 
his  thoughts  of  spiritual  things  such  as  should  he  in  the 
tlioughts  of  the  hrother  of  the  gentle  poet  George  Her- 
hert.  His  helief  in  the  soul's  immortality  is  firm,  and 
the  grounds  of  his  faith  are  those  to  which  men  have 
always  clung  and  must  still  cling  when  they  cast  aside 
the  stay  and  considation  of  a  revealed  faith.  There 
exists  in  Lord  Herhert's  handwriting  a  prayer  which  it 
is  supposed  he  used  daily,  and  in  which  there  is  a  rea- 
soned hope  and  a  natural  piety,  together  with  a  spirit 
of  the  humhlest  and  deepest  reverence,  which  are  very 


EDWARD   LOED   HERBERT.  3 

touchingly  expressed.  This  prayer  is  indeed  the  best 
exposition  of  his  religious  beUef,  and  forms  tlae  most 
fitting  comment  on  the  passages  of  Ms  memoir  which 
deal  with  religious  matters. 

O  God  !  Thou,  by  whose  power  and  wisdom  all  things  at  first 
were  made,  and  by  whose  providence  and  goodness  they  are  con- 
tinued and  preserved,  still  behold,  from  thy  everlasting  dwell- 
ing above,  nie  thy  creature  and  inhabitant  of  this  lower  world, 
who  from  this  valley  of  change  and  corruption,  lifting  up  heart 
and  eyes  to  thee  his  eternal  God  and  Creator,  does  here  ac- 
knowledge and  confess  these  manifold  blessings,  these  vast  gifts 
bestowed  on  me ;  as  namely,  that  before  I  yet  was,  when  I 
could  neither  know  nor  consent  to  be  great  and  good,  thy  eter- 
nal providence  had  ordained  me  this  being,  by  which  I  was 
brought  into  this  world,  a  living,  free,  and  reasonable  creature, 
not  senseless  or  brutish,  but  capable  of  seeing  and  understand- 
ing thy  wondrous  works  herein  ;  and  not  only  so,  but  of  using 
and  enjoying  them  in  that  plentiful  measure  wherein  they  have 
been  hitherto  afforded  me.  0  Lord,  with  all  humbleness  I  con- 
fess, that  were  there  no  other  pledge  of  thy  favor  than  this  alone, 
it  were  more  than  any  of  thy  creatiu-es  in  this  life  can  possibly 
deserve. 

Ent  thy  mercies  go  farther  yet.  Thou  hast  not  only  made 
me  see,  know,  and  partake  thy  works,  but  hast  suffered  me  to 
love  thee  for  the  blessings  showed  us  in  them.  I  say,  thou  hast 
admitted  frail  dust  and  ashes  to  so  high  a  dignity  as  to  love  thee, 
the  infinite  and  etenial  beauty.  And  not  only  disdainest  it  not, 
but  acceptest,  yea,  aud  rewardest  the  same :  and  whence  can 
this  come,  but  from  thy  everlasting  goodness,  which,  had  it  not 
vouchsafed  to  love  me  first,  I  could  not  have  had  the  power  (than 
which  no  man  has  no  greater)  of  loving  thee  again.  Yet  here 
thy  mercies  stay  not.  Thou  hast  not  only  given  me  to  know 
and  love  thee,  but  hast  written  in  my  heart  a  desire  even  to 
imitate  and  be  like  thee  (as  far  as  in  this  frail  flesh  I  may),  and 
not  only  so,  but  many  ways  enabled  me  to  the  perlbrmance  of  it. 


4  EDWAED   LORD   HERBERT. 

Ami  from  hence,  Lord,  with  how  much  comfort  do  I  learn  the 
high  estate  I  received  in  my  creation,  as  heing  formed  in  thine 
own  similitude  and  likeness.  But,  O  Loi-d,  thy  mercies  (for 
they  are  inlinite)  are  not  hounded  even  here.  Thou  hast,  then, 
not  only  given  mc  the  means  of  knowing,  loving,  and  imitat- 
ing thee  in  this  life,  hut  hast  given  me  the  ambition  of  know- 
ing, loving,  and  imitating  thee  after  this  life ;  and  for  that 
purpose  hast  begun  in  me  a  desire  of  happiness,  yea,  of  eternal 
bliss,  and  from  thence  proceeded  to  give  me  hope ;  and  not  only 
so,  but  also  a  faith  which  does  promise  and  assure  me,  that  since 
this  desire  can  come  from  none  but  thee,  nothing  thou  doest 
can  be  in  vain.  What  shall  I  say,  then,  but  desire  thee,  O 
Lord,  to  fulfil  it  in  thy  good  time,  to  me  thy  unworthy  crea- 
ture, who  in  this  flesh  can  come  no  nearer  thee  than  the  desiring 
that  mortality  which  both  keeps  me  from  thy  abode,  and  makes 
me  most  uulike  thee  here.     Amen. 

In  the  expression  of  Herbert's  ideas  concerning  what 
it  is  fit  a  gentleman  need  and  need  not  know  —  appar- 
ently the  things  in  which  Lord  Herbert  hhnselt'  is  and 
is  not  accomplished  —  there  is  a  quaintness  which  is  very 
delightful.    I  do  not  know  where  the  reader  should  look 
in  English  literature  for  another  picture  of  the  times  at 
all  comparable  to  that  which  he  will  find  in  this  me- 
moir.    It  is  all  the   more   interesting   and  valuable, 
because  it  is  a  picture  not  only  of  English  but  of  con- 
tinental manners,  in  an  age  when  there  was  a  greater 
likeness  in  them   than  there  is  now,  at  least  among 
<' people  of  quality."     Their  divergence   in  morality 
and  the  whole  conduct  of  hfe  is  a  fact  of  almost  as  recent 
date  as  the  triumph  of  Puritanism.     An  English  noble 
(.f  Elizabeth's  or  James's  court  hardly  found  himself  a 
stranger  at  that  of  Henry  IV.  or  Louis  XIII.     Prot- 
estantism was  still  very  new,  and  the  balance  for  or 
against  it  was  nowhere  finally  confirmed  ;    many  of 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  5 

the  first  gentlemen  of  the  French  kinirdom  were  of 
"  the  religion,"  and  it  had  not  yet  begun  greatly  to 
modify  the  English  aristocracy.  It  must  be  owned 
that  the  manners  of  the  first  society  as  we  see  them  in 
Lord  Herbert's  memoir  arc  not  such  as  always  to 
dazzle  or  awe  the  modern  democrat :  one  finds  them 
sometimes  of  an  undignified  rusticity,  as  in  that  in- 
stance where  a  French  gentleman  snatches  a  knot  of 
ribbon  from  the  hat  of  the  daughter  of  the  Duchess 
of  Ventadour,  and  Herbert,  whom  the  little  dame  begs 
to  get  it  back  for  her,  chases  the  Frenchman  all  about 
the  meadow  till  he  runs  him  down.  To  be  sure,  his 
lordship  was  ready  to  kill  this  indiscreet  gentleman 
afterwards  for  his  disrespect  to  the  little  lady.  Ho 
was  at  all  times  ready  to  kill  or  be  kilh'd  in  such  a 
cause,  and  this  gallant  eagerness  to  hazard  life  has  its 
splendid  aspect.  Even  when  it  is  quixotic,  as  when 
Lord  Herbert  challenges  the  Governor  of  Lyons  for 
arresting  him  (Herl)ert  was  recruiting  men  in  France 
to  fight  in  the  Duke  of  Savoy's  service),  it  is  not' 
altogether  ridiculous.  There  is  also  a  magnificence  in 
the  friendshi})  of  these  fine  personages,  of  wliich  the 
reader  will  gain  a  pleasant  idea  from  Herbert's  ac- 
count of  his  intimacy  with  the  Montmorencies.  Even 
where  they  meet  as  enemies  their  intercourse  has  the 
glamour  of  a  time  when  arms  were  the  first  accom- 
plishment of  a  gentleman,  and  war  was  still  a  polite 
distraction  for  people  of  quality,  whatever  it  was  for 
other  jieople. 

Herbert,  not  only  as  James's  ambassador  to  Louis 
XHL,  but  as  a  sort  of  soldier  of  fortune  in  the  Low 
Countries,  and  a  peaceful  traveller  in  Italy,  saw  every- 
tliing  that  was  best  worth  seeing  in  the  Eurojie  of  liis 
day.     After  parting  from  his  wife,  who  refused  to  go 


6  EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT. 

and  see  the  world  \A'ith  him,  —  his  naive  account  of  their 
separation  is  one  of  the  most  amusing  passages  of  his 
autobiography,  —  he  seems  to  have  dedicated  himself 
to  the  pleasures  of  travel  and  knight-errantry,  and  we 
■find  him  everyAvhere  resenting  insult,  observing  life, 
and  noting  manners.  He  sketches  now  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  an  Italian  inn-keeper,  and  gives  now  the 
pi-etty  speech  he  made  to  a  Venetian  nun ;  he  tells  of 
the  siiperb  state  and  unbending  pride  in  wliieh  he 
maintains  the  English  embassy  at  Paris ;  he  recounts 
the  curious  diplomacy  by  which  he  involves  himself  in 
a  quarrel  with  Louis  XIII. 's  worthless  favorite  De 
Luynes,  in  fulfilment  of  the  compact  between  James 
II.  and  Henry  IV.,  that  whichever  outlived  the  other 
should  watch  over  and  advise  his  son  ;  he  touches  life 
at  all  points,  and  at  all  times  he  is  charming.  It  is 
infinitely  to  be  regretted  that  his  autobiography  closes 
before  the  time  of  his  second  embassy  to  the  French 
court,  whither  he  was  sent  to  conclude  the  marriage 
between  Charles  I.  and  Henrietta  Maria,  after  the 
failure  of  the  Spanish  match.  But  there  exist  some 
letters  of  Herbert's  relating  to  this  matter,  which  are 
curit)us,  and  very  characteristic  of  himself  and  of  the; 
period.  The  letters  are  addressed  to  James  I.,  and  in 
one,  of  the  date  of  August  24,  l(j77,  the  king  is 
assured  that  the  marriage  is  generally  desired  by  the 
French  nati(jn,  "  and  particularly  by  madame  herselfe," 
—  the  Princess  Henrietta  Maria — ''who  hath  not 
only  cast  out  many  words  to  this  purpose,  but  where 
there  hath  been  a  question  of  the  diversity  of  relligions, 
hath  sayd,  that  a  Avife  ought  to  have  no  will,  but  that 
of  her  husband's,"  —  complaisance  as  great  as  that  cited 
by  Thackeray  of  the  Duchess  of  Hanover,  who  when 
asked  of  Avliat  religion  her  daughter  was,  replied  that 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  ' 

tlio  princess  was  of  no  religion,  as  yet.  lint  the 
daughter  of  Henry  IV.  may  have  justly  felt  that  her 
father's  change  of  faith,  when  he  abjured  Protestant- 
ism for  the  sake  of  po\^-er,  was  an  example  which 
ought  to  have  weiglit  with  her,  and  that  a  reason 
of  state  was  sufficient  reason.  Tlie  Bourbons  have 
since  grown  more  tenacious  of  their  belief,  —  having 
got  the  wrong  one.  The  second  letter  of  Herbert  re- 
ferring to  this  marriage  was  written  after  Charles's 
return  from  his  romantic  journey  to  Spain,  but  before 
the  Spanish  alliance  was  given  up.  It  is  interesting 
not  upon  this  point  alone,  but  in  its  reference  to  the 
hopes  fixed  by  gentlemen  of  "the  religion"  upon  the 
cold-hearted  pedant  on  the  English  throne, — hopes 
afterwards  so  terribly  cheated  at  La  Rochelle  by  Charles 
I.  when  he  came  to  jjower. 

Mv  MOST  GRACIOUS  SovERAiGNE,  —  Now  that  I  tlianke 
God  for  it,  his  highenes,  accordiuge  to  my  contiuuall  prayers, 
hath  made  a  safe  and  happy  returne  unto  your  sacred  majestic's 
presence,  I  think  myselfe  bounde,  by  way  of  complete  obedi- 
ence to  those  commandements  I  received  from  your  sacred 
majestic,  both  by  Mr.  Secretarie  Calvert  and  my  brother  Hen- 
ry, to  give  your  sacred  majestic  an  account  of  that  sense  which 
the  generall  sort  of  people  doth  entertaine  here,  concerninge 
the  whole  frame  and  contcxte  of  his  higlmcs  voyage.  It  is 
agreed  on  all  parts  that  his  highnes  nmst  have  received  much 
contentment,  in  seeinge  two  great  kingdomes,  and  consequently 
in  enjoyinge  that  satisfaction  which  princes  but  rarely,  and  not 
without  great  pcrill  obtain.  His  highnes  discretion,  ddigence, 
and  princely  behavior  everywhere,  likewise  is  much  ])raysed. 
Lastly,  since  his  highnes  jotu-ney  hath  fallen  out  so  well,  that 
his  highnes  is  come  back  without  any  prejudice  to  his  person 
or  dignitie  :  they  say  the  successe  hath  sufficiently  commended 
the  counceil.  This  is  the  most  common  censure  (even  of  the 
bigot  party,  as  I  am  informed),  which  1  approve  in  all,  but  iu 


8  EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT. 

Ihe  last  poiute,  in  the  dulivery  whereof  T  fiiicle  somethinge  to 
dislike,  and  therfore  tell  them,  that  thinges  are  not  to  be 
judged  alone  by  the  successe,  and  that  when  they  would  not 
looke  so  highe  as  God's  providence,  vvithout  which  no  place  is 
secure,  they  might  finde  even  in  reason  of  state,  so  much,  as 
might  sufficiently  warrante  his  highues  person,  and  libertie  to 
returne. 

I  will  come  from  the  ordinarie  voice,  to  the  selecter  judg- 
ment of  the  ministers  of  state,  and  more  intelligent  people  in 
this  kingdome,  who  though  they  iiothinge  viay  from  the  above- 
recited  opinion,  yet  as  more  profoundly  lookinge  into  the  state 
of  this  longe-treated-of  allyance  betwixte  your  sacred  majestie 
and  Spainc,  in  the  persons  of  his  highnes  and  the  infanta,  they 
comprehende  their  sentence  thereof  (as  I  am  infoimedj  in  three 
propositions. 

First,  that  the  protestation,  which  the  kinge  of  Spaine 
made  to  his  highnes  upon  his  departure,  whereby  he  promised 
to  chase  away,  and  dis-favor  all  those  who  should  oppose  this 
marriage,  doth  extende  no  further,  than  to  the  sayd  kingcs  ser- 
vants, or  at  furthest,  not  bcyonde  the  temporall  princes  his 
neighbours,  so  that  the  pope,  beinge  not  included  hcrin,  it  is 
thought  his  consent  must  bee  yet  obtained,  and  consequently 
that  the  business  is  in  little  more  forwardnes  than  when  it  first 
beganne. 

Secondly,  that  the  pope  will  never  yield  his  consent,  unless 
your  sacred  majestie  grante  some  notable  privileges  and  advan- 
tage to  the  Roman  Catholique  relligiou  in  your  sacred  majestie's 
kingedomes. 

Thirdly,  that  the  sayd  kinge  of  Spaine  would  never  insiste 
upon  obtaiuiuge  those  privileges,  but  that  bee  more  desires  to 
fonne  a  party  in  your  sacred  majestie's  kingedomes,  which  he 
luay  keep  ahvays  obsequious  to  his  will,  then  to  maintain  a 
frendly  correspondence  betwixt  your  sacred  majestie  and  him- 
selfe.  I  must  not,  in  the  last  place,  omitte  to  acquaint  your 
sacred  majestie  very  particularly  with  the  sense  which  was  ex- 
pressed by  the  bons  Francois,  and  body  of  those  of  the  religion, 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  9 

who  hartily  wishe  that  the  same  greatncs  which  the  king  of 
Spaine  doth  so  affccte  over  all  the  worlde,  and  stiD  maintaiiies 
even  in  this  country,  which  is  to  bee  protector  of  the  jesuited 
and  bigot  partie,  your  sacred  majcstie  would  embrace  in  beeing 
defender  of  our  failhe.  The  direct  answer  to  which,  though  I 
evade,  and  therfore  reply  little  more,  then  that  this  counceil 
was  much  fitter  when  the  union  in  Germany  did  subsiste  than 
at  this  tyme ;  yet  do  I  think  myselfe  obliged  to  represente  the 
affection  they  beare  unto  your  sacred  majestie.  This  is  as 
much  as  is  come  to  my  notice,  concerninge  that  pointe  your 
sacred  majestie  gave  mee  in  charge,  which  therfore  I  have  plainly 
layd  open  before  your  sacred  majestie's  eyes,  as  understandinge 
well,  that  princes  never  receive  greater  wronge,  then  when  the 
ministers  they  putte  in  truste  do  palliate  and  disguise  those 
tliinges  which  it  concernes  them  to  knowe.  For  the  avoydinge 
wherof,  let  me  take  the  boldnes  to  assure  your  sacred  majestie 
that  those  of  this  king's  counceil  here  will  use  all  means  they 
can,  both  to  the  king  of  Spaine,  and  to  the  pope  (in  whom 
they  pretend  to  have  very  particular  interest),  not  only  to  in- 
terrupte,  but  yf  it  be  possible,  to  breake  otf  your  sacred  majes- 
tie's allyance  with  Spaine.  For  which  purpose  the  Count  de 
Tillieres  hath  stricte  commande  to  give  cether  all  punctuall 
advice,  that  accordingly  they  may  proceede.  It  rests  that  I 
most  humbly  beseech  your  sacred  majestie  to  take  my  free  rela- 
tion of  these  particulars  in  good  part,  since  I  am  of  no  faction, 
nor  have  any  passion  or  interest,  but  faithfully  to  pcrforme 
that  service  and  dutie  which  I  owe  to  your  sacred  majestie,  for 
whose  perfect  health  and  happiness  I  pray,  with  the  devotion  of 
Your  sacred  majestie's 
Most  obedient,  most  loyall,  and  most  affectionate  subject 
and  servant, 

HERBERr. 

From  Merlou  Castle,  the  31st  of  October,  1G33. 

After  his  return  from  France,  upon  the  condusion  of 
the  marriage  between  Charles  and  Henrietta,  Herbert 
Avas  created,  in  1625,  an  Irish  peer,  and  then,  in  1631, 


10  EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT. 

a  peer  of  England,  with  the  title  of  Lord  Herbert, 
Baron  of  Cherbury  in  Sliropsliire.  It  has  been  con- 
jectured by  an  earlier  editor  of  his  memoir  that  he  lost 
his  interest  at  court  after  the  assassination  of  Bucking- 
ham, who  was  his  friend.  At  any  rate,  he  lived  in  a 
retirement  scarcely  broken  till  the  troubles  between 
Charles  and  his  Parliament  began.  He  was  at  first 
inclined  to  favor  the  king ;  but  he  aftenvards  sided 
with  Pai'liament,  and  suffered  the  resentment  of  the 
royalists.  He  marched  with  the  army  of  Parliament 
into  Scotland  in  1639,  but  he  did  not  take  a  conspicu- 
ous part  in  the  war.  He  received  the  castle  of  Mont- 
gomery in  requital  of  his  losses  by  the  king's  troojis, 
and  he  lived  on  his  estates  throughout  the  troubles  in  a 
quiet  to  which  his  feeble  health  perhaps  obliged  him. 
He  died  in  1G48,  in  London.  Although  he  was  not  a 
Christian,  he  had  prayers  twice  a  day  in  his  household, 
and  a  sermon  on  Sundays ;  now  when  he  came  to  die, 
he  sent  for  the  Lord  Primate  of  Ireland,  then  in  Lon- 
don, to  give  him  the  sacrament,  saying  that  if  it  did 
no  good,  it  could  do  no  harm.  The  primate  refused  to 
administer  it  upon  these  terms.  Herbert  made  no 
answer,  but  asked  the  tune,  and  saying,  "An  hour 
hence  I  shall  depart,"  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and 
*'  expired  with  great  serenity." 

I  have  kept  in  the  present  edition  the  dedication  and 
advertisement  with  which  Horace  Walpole  first  gave 
to  the  world  Lord  Herbert's  autobiography,  and  in 
which  the  reader  will  find  much  interesting  infonna- 
tion,  as  well  as  valuable  comment  on  the  author. 
Herbert  published  many  other  books,  none  of  which,  I 
believe,  are  read  in  our  time.  His  work,  "  De  Veritate," 
in  which  he  denied  Scriptural  revelation,  upon  the  au- 
thority of  direct  r^'elation  to  himself,  made  trouble 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  11 

and  confutation  enough.  Baxter,  Haliburton,  and 
Locke  replied  to  it ;  but  it  has  long  been  superseded 
by  other  doubts  and  arguments.  His  ''  De  Religione 
Gentilium,"  exposing  the  errors  of  paganism,  is  equally 
dead;  neither  his  "  Expeditio  Buckinghami  Ducis  in 
Oleam  Insulam,".  nor  his  ''  Life  and  Reign  of  Henry 
the  Eighth,"  are  cuirent,  or,  out  of  antiquarian  libra- 
ries, even  standard  literature,  though  the  latter  was 
written  at  King  James's  command.  Walpole  calls  it 
a  masterpiece  of  historical  biography.  Hallam,  also  in 
his  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,"  speaks 
of  this  histfiry  as  "  a  book  of  good  authority  and  WTit- 
ten  in  a  manly  and  judicious  spirit."  He  finds  the 
"  De  Eeligione  Gentilium,"  even  more  "inimical  to 
every  positive  religion  "  than  the  "  De  Veritate,"  and 
declares  that  Herbert  "damns  as  summarily  as  any 
theologian  "  those  heathen  who  do  not  accept  his  five 
fundamental  truths,  to  wit:  that  there  is  a  supreme 
God ;  that  he  is  to  be  worshipped ;  that  virtue  and  piety 
are  the  chief  elements  of  this  worship  ;  that  sins  are  to 
be  repented  and  eschewed ;  that  good  and  evil  wiU  be 
rewarded  and  punished  in  this  life  and  the  next.  These 
truths  form  the  basis  of  Herbert's  arguments  in  both 
works  ;  but  in  "  De  Veritate,"  Hallam  complains  of  his 
metaphysical  obscurity,  and  confesses  that  he  has  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  following  and  restating  his  phil- 
osophy. 

Herbert's  account  of  Buckingham's  expedition  ap- 
pears to  be  hardly  more  than  an  ineflectual  defence  of 
that  favorite's  failure  to  relieve  La  Rochelle,  in  which 
the  French  Protestants  were  holding  out  against  Riche- 
lieu. A  volume  of  our  author's  "  Occasional  Verses," 
published  l)y  his  son,  has  long  gone  the  way  of  an 
incalculable  mass  of  other  occasional  verses.     I  judge 


12  EDWARD   LOED   HERBERT. 

from  certain  sonnots,  that  thoy  were  not  easy  to  read  ; 
they  are  sonnets  strictly  of  his  century,  full  of  meta- 
physical conceits  and  painfulnesses,  as  any  one  may 
see  from  the  examples  below  :  — 

TO    A   YOUxNG    PALE    BEAUTY. 

Fi'om  thy  pale  look,  while  angry  love  doth  seem 

With  more  imperiousncss  to  give  his  law, 
Than  where  he  blushiiigly  doth  beg  esteem  ; 

We  may  observe  tried  beauty  in  sueh  awe. 
That  the  brav'st  colour  under  her  command 

Affrighted,  oft  before  you  doth  retire ; 
While,  like  a  statue  of  yourself  you  stand 

In  such  synunetrique  form,  as  doth  require 
No  lustre  but  its  own  ;  as  then,  in  vain, 

One  should  flesh  colouring  to  statues  add, 
So  were  it  to  your  native  white  a  stain 

If  it  in  other  ornaments  were  clad. 
Than  what  your  rich  proportions  do  give. 

Which  in  a  boundless  fair  being  unconiia'd, 
Exalted  in  your  soul,  so  seem  to  live. 

That  they  become  an  emblem  of  your  mind; 
That  so,  who  to  your  orient  white  should  join 

Those  fading  qualities  most  eyes  adore. 
Were  but  like  one  who,  gilding  silver  coin, 

Gave  but  occasion  to  suspect  it  more. 

TO    HIS   WATCH,    WHEN    HE    COULD    NOT   SLEEP. 

Uncessant  minutes,  whilst  you  move,  you  tell 

The  time  that  tells  our  life,  which,  though  it  run 

Never  so  fast  or  far,  your  new  begun 
Short  steps  shall  overtake  :  for  though  life  well 
May  'scape  his  own  account,  it  shall  not  yours. 

You  are  death's  auditors,  that  both  divide 
And  sum  whate'er  that  life  inspir'd  endures, 

Past  a  beginning  ;  and  through  you  we  bide 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT.  13 

The  doom  of  fate,  whose  unrecall'd  decree 

You  date,  briu^,  execute ;  making  what 's  new, 
111 ;  and  good,  old  ;  for  as  we  die  in  you. 

You  die  in  time,  time  in  eternity. 

The  epitaph  on  himself  is  a  yet  tougher  morsel :  — 

Readee, 

The  monument  which  thou  beholdest  here, 

Presents  Edward,  Lord  Herbert,  to  thy  sii^ht ; 
A  man,  who  was  so  free  from  either  hope  or  fear. 

To  have  or  lose  this  ordinary  light, 
That  when  to  elements  his  body  turned  were. 

He  knew  that  as  those  elements  would  light, 
So  his  immortal  soul  should  tiud  above 
With  his  Creator,  peace,  joy,  truth,  and  love  ! 

No  one  reader,  I  think,  will  make  Herbert's  acquaint- 
ance in  this  frank  and  hearty  memoir  witliout  great 
liking  and  respect.  He  was,  as  Ben  Jouson  said, 
''many  men"  in  one,  yet  each  of  his  several  selves 
had  some  virtue  to  take  regard  ;  even  his  faults  are  of 
the  sort  which  men  forgive,  and  women  love.  I  have 
flattered  myself  that  in  grouping  him  with  the  sturdy 
Quaker  Ellwood,  I  have  furnished  the  reader  an  easy 
means  {ov  a  comparison  which  will  not  he  unfair  to 
either  of  them.  They  are  both  characters  of  the  most 
distinct  type,  of  a  like  heroic  mould  in  many  things, 
and  of  a  similar  devoutness,  however  diverse  in  their 
theories  of  religion  and  of  life  ;  it  were  hard  to  say 
which  is  the  worst  poet.  Herljert  represents  the  last 
phase  of  chivalry,  the  essence  of  which  lingered  in 
his  heart  and  influenced  his  conduct,  while  his  daring 
intellect  questioned  the  highest  things,  and  infinitely 
removed  him  from  medievahsm.    He  was  of  the  cosmo- 


14  EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT. 

politan  nobility,  which  found  itself  at  home  anywhere 
in  the  world  of  courts  and  camps ;  and  he  was  patri- 
cian to  the  last  drop  of  his  Llood.  EUwood  was  of  the 
new  dispensation  which  shunned  the  world,  which  bade 
men  fashion  themselves  on  Christ's  example,  and  ab- 
horred arms  and  vanities.  His  sect  goes  forward  to 
an  early  extinction,  but  its  animating  spirit  can  never 
die  out  of  the  world ;  it  must  prevail  and  rule  at  last. 
The  courtier  is  picturesque  and  romantic,  in  a  degree 
which  takes  the  artistic  sense  with  keen  delight ;  the 
Quaker  is  good  and  beautiful,  with  a  simjde  right- 
eousness that  comforts  and  strengthens  the  soul. 


s 

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f^' 

ADVERTISEMENT. 


OME  years  ago  the  following  pages  Avould 
have  been  reckoned  one  of  the  greatest  pres- 
ents which  the  learned  world  could  have 
received.  The  Life  of  the  famous  Lord  Her- 
bert of  Cherbury,  written  by  himself,  would  have 
excited  the  curiosity  of  the  whole  republic  of  letters. 
Perhaps  a  less  proportion  of  expectation  may  attend 
this  its  late  appearance.  Not  that  the  al)ilities  of  the 
noble  writer  have  fallen  into  disesteem.  His  Reign  of 
Henry  the  Eiglith  is  allowed  to  be  a  masterpiece  of  his- 
toric biography.  But  they  were  his  speculative  wftrks 
which,  raising  a  multitude  of  admirers  or  censors  from 
their  acuteness  and  singularity,  made  Lord  Herbert's  a 
name  of  the  first  importance.  The  many  great  men 
who  illustrated  the  succeeding  period  have  taken  ofi" 
some  of  the  public  attention  ;  for  it  is  only  a  genius  of 
the  fii'st  force  whose  fame  dilates  with  ages,  and  can 
buoy  itself  up  above  the  iudiifereuce  which  steals  upon 
mankind  as  an  author  becomes  less  and  less  the  subject 
of  conversation.  Sjieculative  writers,  however  pene- 
trating, however  sublime  their  talents,  seldom  attain 
the  seal  oi  universal  approbation,  because,  of  all  the 


16  ADVERTISEMENT. 

various  abilities,  which  Proviilonce  has  bestowed  on 
man,  reasoning  is  not  the  power  which  has  been  brought 
to  standard  perfection.  Poetry  and  eloquence  have 
been  so  far  perfected  that  the  great  masters  in  those 
branches  still  remain  unequalled.  But  where  is  that 
book  of  human  argumentation,  where  that  system  of 
human  opinions,  which  has  not  been  partly  confuted  or 
exploded '?  Novelty  itself  in  matters  of  metaphysical 
inquiry  often  proves,  in  effect,  a  confutation  of  antece- 
dent novelties.  Opponents  raise  the  celebrity  of  the 
doctrines  they  attack  :  newer  doctrines  stifle  that  celeb- 
rity. This  is  a  truth  which  tlie  bigots  of  Lord  Her- 
bert's age  would  not  have  liked  to  hear ;  but  what  has 
happened  to  many  other  great  men  has  been  liis  fate 
too:  they  who  meant  to  wound  his  fame  extended  it; 
when  the  cry  of  enthusiasts  was  drawn  off  to  fresher 
game,  his  renown  grew  fainter.  His  moral  character 
recovered  its  lustre,  but  has  fewer  spectators  to  gaze 
at  it. 

This  introduction  to  his  life  may  not  be  improper, 
though  at  first  it  may  mislead  the  reader,  who  will 
hence  perhaps  expect  from  his  own  pen  some  account 
of  a  person's  creed,  Avhom  a  few  sottish  zealots  once 
represented  as  having  none  at  all.  His  lordship's 
thorough  belief  and  awful  veneration  of  the  Deity  will 
clearly  appear  in  these  pages ;  but  neitlier  the  uuTudiever 
nor  the  monk  will  have  farther  satisfaction.  Tliis  life 
of  a  philosopher  is  neither  a  deduction  of  his  opinions 
nor  a  table  of  philosophy.  I  will  anticipate  the  read- 
er's surprise,  though  it  shall  be  but  in  a  word :  to  his 
astonishment  he  will  find  tliat  the  history  of  Don 
Quixote  was  the  life  f)f  Plato. 

The  noble  family  which  gives  these  sheets  to  the 
world  is  above  tlie  little  prejuchces  which  make  many 


ADVERTISEMENT.  17 

a  raco  dofrand  tlie  public  of  what  was  designed  for  it 
by  those  who  alone  had  a  right  to  give  or  withhold. 
It  is  above  suppressing  what  Lord  Herljert  dared  to  tell. 
Foibles,  passions,  jK-rhaps  some  vanity,  surely  some 
wrongheadcdness,  — -these  he  scorned  to  conceal,  for  he 
sought  truth,  wrote  on  truth,  was  truth.  He  honestly 
told  when  he  had  nussed  or  mistaken  it.  His  descend- 
ants, not  blind  to  Iiis  feults,  but  through  them  conduct- 
ing the  reader  to  his  virtues,  desire  the  world  to  make 
this  candid  observation  with  them:  "  That  there  must 
have  been  a  wonderful  fund  of  internal  virtue,  of  strong 
resolution,  and  manly  philosophy,  which,  in  an  age  of 
such  mistaken  and  barbarous  gallantry,  of  such  absurd 
usages  and  false  glory,  could  enable  Lord  Herbert  to 
seek  fiime  better  founded,  and  could  make  him  reflect 
that  there  might  be  a  more  desirable  kind  of  glory  than 
that  of  a  romantic  duellist."  None  shut  their  eyes  so 
obstinately  against  seeing  what  is  ridiculous  as  they 
who  hsLxe  attained  a  mastery  in  it ;  but  that  was  not 
the  case  of  Lord  Herbert.  His  valor  made  him  a  hero, 
be  the  heroism  in  vogue  what  it  would ;  his  sound  parts 
made  him  a  philosopher.  Few  men  in  truth  have 
figured  so  conspicuously  in  lights  so  various ;  and  his 
descendants,  though  they  cannot  approve  him  in  every 
walk  of  glory,  would  perhaps  injure  his  memory  if  they 
suffered  the  world  to  be  ignorant  that  he  was  formed 
to  shine  in  every  sphere  into  which  his  impetuous  tem- 
perament or  predominant  reason  conducted  him. 

As  a  soldier,  he  won  the  esteem  of  those  great  cap- 
tains the  Prince  of  Orange  and  tlie  Constable  de  Mont- 
morency ;  as  a  knight,  his  chivalry  was  drawn  from 
the  purest  fonts  of  the  Fairy  Queen.  Had  he  been 
ambitious,  the  beauty  of  his  person  would  have  carried 
him  as  far  as  any  gentle  kuight  can  aspire  to  go.     As 


18  ADVEKTISEMENT. 

a  public  ininistor,  he  supported  the  dignity  of  liis  coun- 
try, even  wlien  its  prince  disgraced  it ;  and  that  he  was 
(pialitied  to  write  its  annals  as  well  as  to  ennidde  them, 
the  history  I  have  mentioned  proves,  and  must  make 
us  lament  that  he  did  not  complete,  or  that  we  have 
lost,  the  account  he  purposed  to  give  of  his  embassy. 
These  busy  scenes  were  blended  with  and  terminated 
by  meditation  and  philosophic  inquiries.  Strip  each 
period  of  its  excesses  and  errors,  and  it  will  not  be  easy 
to  trace  out  or  dispose  the  life  of  a  man  of  quality  into 
a  succession  of  employments  which  -would  better  be- 
come him.  Valor  and  military  activity  in  youth  ;  busi- 
ness of  state  in  the  middle  age ;  contemplation  and 
labors  for  the  information  of  posterity  in  the  calmer 
scenes  of  closing  life.  This  was  Lord  Herbert :  the 
deduction  he  will  give  himself. 

The  MS.  was  in  great  danger  of  being  lost  to  the 
world.  Henry  Lord  Herbert,  grandson  of  the  author, 
died  in  1091  without  issue,  and  by  his  will  left  his  estate 
to  Francis  Herbert  of  Oakly  Park  (father  of  the  present 
Earl  of  Povvis),  his  sister's  son.  At  Lymore,  in  Mont- 
gomeryshire (the  chief  seat  of  the  family  after  Crom- 
well had  demolished  Montgomery  Castle), was  preserved 
the  original  manuscript.  Upon  the  marriage  of  Henry 
Lord  Herbert  with  a  daughter  of  Francis,  Earl  of  Brad- 
ford, Lymore,  with  a  considerable  part  of  the  estate 
thereabouts,  was  allotted  for  her  jointure.  After  his 
decease  Lady  Herbert  usually  resided  there ;  she  died 
in  1714.  The  MS.  could  then  not  be  found ;  yet  while 
she  lived  there,  it  was  known  to  have  been  in  her 
hands.  Some  years  afterwards  it  was  discovered  at 
Lymore  among  some  (dd  jiapers,  in  very  bad  condition  ; 
several  leaves  being  torn  out  and  others  stained  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  make  it  scarcely  legible.     Under  these 


ADVERTISEMENT.  10 

circumstances  inquiry  was  made  of  the  Herberts  of 
llibbisford  (desoondcd  from  Sir  Henry  Herbert,  a 
younger  brotlier  of  the  author  lord)  in  rehition  to  a 
duplicate  of  the  memoirs,  which  was  confidently  said 
to  be  iu  their  custody.  It  was  allowed  that  such  a 
duplicate  had  existed,  but  no  one  could  recollect  what 
w'as  become  of  it.  At  last,  about  the  year  1737,  this 
book  was  sent  to  the  Earl  of  Powis  by  a  gentleman, 
whose  father  liad  purchased  an  estate  of  Henry  Herbert 
of  Ribbisford  (son  of  Sir  Henry  Herbert  above-men- 
tioned), in  whom  was  revived  iu  1G94  the  title  of  Cher- 
bury,  which  had  been  extinguished  in  lODl.  By  him 
(after  the  sale  of  the  estate)  some  few  books,  pictures, 
and  other  things  were  left  in  the  house  and  remained 
there  to  1737.  This  manuscript  was  amongst  them ; 
which,  not  only  by  the  contents  (as  far  as  it  was  pos- 
sible to  collate  it  with  the  original),  but  by  the  simili- 
tude of  the  writing,  appeared  to  be  the  duplicate  so 
much  souglit  after. 

Being  written  when  Lrn-d  Herbert  was  past  sixty^ 
tlie  work  was  probably  never  completed.  A  few  notes 
have  been  added,  to  point  out  the  most  remarkable 
persons  mentioned  in  the  text.  The  style  is  remarkably 
good  for  that  age,  which,  coming  between  the  nei'vous 
and  expressive  manliness  of  the  ])receding  century  and 
the  purity  of  the  present  standard,  partook  of  neither. 
His  lordship's  observations  are  new  and  acute ;  some 
very  shrewd,  as  tliat  to  the  Due  de  Guise ;  his  dis- 
course on  the  llefiirination  very  wise.  To  the  French 
confessor  his  reply  was  spirited;  indeed,  his  behaxdor 
to  Luynes,  and  all  his  conduct,  gave  ample  evidence  of 
his  constitutional  fire.  But  nothing  is  more  marked 
than  the  air  of  veracity  or  persuasion  which  runs  through 
the  whole  narrative.     If  lie  make  us  wonder,  and  won- 


20  ADVERTISEMENT. 

der  make  us  iloul)t,  the  cliann  of  liis  ingenuous  integrity 
dispels  oni-  hesitation.  The  whole  I'elation  throws 
singnlar  light  on  the  manners  of  the  age,  though  the 
gleams  are  transient.  In  those  manners  nothing  is 
more  striking  than  the  strange  want  of  police  in  this 
country.  I  will  not  point  out  instances,  as  I  have 
already  perhaps  too  much  opened  the  contents  of  a 
book  which,  if  it  give  other  readers  half  the  pleasure  it 
afforded  me,  they  will  own  themselves  extraordinarily 
indebted  to  the  noble  person  by  wliose  favor  I  am 
permitted  to  communicate  to  them  so  great  a  curiosity. 


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THE    LIFE    OF 


EDWARD     LORD     HERBERT 


OP    CHERBURY. 


DO  bolieve  that  if  all  my  ancestors  had  set 
down  their  lives  in  wrhing,  and  loft  them  to 
posterity,  many  docnments  necessary  to  be 
known  of  those  who  both  participate  of  their 
natural  inclinations  and  humors,  must  in  all  proba- 
bility run  a  not  much  different  course,  might  have 
been  given  for  their  instruction;  and  certainly  it 
Avill  be  found  much  better  for  men  to  guide  themselves 
by  such  observations  as  their  father,  grandfather  and 
great-grandfather  might  have  delivered  to  them,  than 
by  those  vulgar  rules  and  examples  which  cannot  in 
all  points  so  exactly  agree  unto  them.  Therefore, 
whether  their  life  wore  private,  and  contained  only 
precepts  necessary  to  treat  with  their  cliildren,  ser- 
vants, tenants,  kinsmen,  and  neighbors,  or  employed 
abroad  in  the  university,  or  study  of  the  law,  or  in  the 
court,  or  in  the  cam]),  their  heirs  might  have  benefited 
themselves    inure    by  them    than   by    any  else;    for 


22  THE   LIFE   OF 

which  reason  I  have  thought  fit  to  relate  to  my  pos- 
terity those  passages  of  iny  hfe  wliich  I  conceive  may 
best  declare  me,  and  he  most  useful  to  them.  In  the 
delivery  of  which  I  profess  to  Avrite  with  all  truth  and 
sincerity,  as  scorning  ever  to  deceive  or  spealc  false  to 
any,  and  therefore  detestnig  it  nmch  more  where  I  am 
under  obligation  of  speaking  to  those  so  near  me  ;  and 
if  this  be  one  reason  for  taking  my  pen  in  hand  at  this 
time,  so  as  my  age  is  now  past  threescore,  it  will  be  fit 
to  recollect  my  former  actions,  and  examine  what  had 
been  done  well  or  ill,  to  the  intent  I  may  both  reform 
tliat  which  was  amiss,  and  so  make  my  peace  with 
God,  as  also  comfort  myself  in  those  things  which, 
through  God's  great  grace  and  fovor,  have  been  done 
according  to  the  rules  of  conscience,  virtue,  and  honor. 
Before  yet  I  bring  myself  to  this  account,  it  will  be 
necessary  I  say  somewhat  concerning  my  ancestors,  as 
far  as  the  notice  of  them  is  come  to  me  in  any  credible 
way;  of  whom  yet  I  cannot  say  much,  since  I  was  but 
eight  years  old  wlien  my  grandfatlier  died,  and  that  my 
father  lived  but  al)OUt  four  years  after;  and  that  for  the 
rest  I  have  lived  for  the  most  part  from  home,  it  is 
impossible  I  should  have  that  entire  knowledge  of  their 
actions  which  might  infonn  me  sufficiently.  I  shall 
only  ther(^fore  relate  tlie  more  knoAvn  and  undoubted 
parts  of  their  lives.* 

My  father  was  Eichard  Herbert,  Esq.,  son  to  Ed- 
ward Herbert,  Esq.,   and  grandchild   to  Sir  Eichard 

*  Tlionfrh  liis  lordship,  act-dnliiifr  to  his  spnipiilniis  fxartness,  wniiM 
set  down  iKilIiiiii;  iilalinjr  to  liis  aiircstors  liiit  what  was  of  uiKhiuliteil 
notoriety,  yet  it  is  prohahie  that  he  had  some  iiieniovials  of  his  family  in 
writing;  for  I)ii<rdale  in  his  Baronn'/e,  Vol.  H.  p.  256,  edit,  of  IfiTH,  quotes 
a  eurious  passage  relating  to  the  family's  assumption  of  the  name  of  Her- 
bert from  a  manuseript  hook  whieli  he  had  seen  in  the  liands  of  our 
author,  Lord  Herhert. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  23 

Herbert,  Knt.,  who  was  a  youncrer  son  of  Sir  Richard 
Herbert,  of  Colebrook,  in  Mouiiiouthshire,  of  all  whom 
I  shall  say  a  little.  And  first  of  iny  father,  whom 
I  remember  to  have  been  black-haired  and  bearded, 
as  all  my  ancestors  of  his  side  are  said  to  have  been, 
of  a  manly  or  somewhat  stem  look,  but  withal  very 
handsome  and  well  compact  in  his  limbs,  and  of  a 
great  courage,  whereof  he  gave  proof,  when  he  was 
.so  barbarously  assaulted  by  many  men  in  the  church- 
yard at  Llanerfyl,  at  what  time  he  would  have  ap- 
prehended a  man  who  denied  to  appear  to  justice ; 
for  defending  himself  against  them  all,  by  the  help 
only  of  one  John  ap  Howell  Corbet,  he  chased  liis 
adversaries  until  a  villain,  coming  behind  him,  did 
over  the  shoulders  of  others  wound  him  on  the 
head  behind  with  a  forest  bill  until  he  fell  dowu, 
though  recovering  himself  again,  notwithstanding  his 
skull  was  cut  through  to  the  pia  mater  of  the  brain, 
he  saw  his  adversaries  lly  away,  and  after  walked 
home  to  his  house  at  Llyssyn,  where,  after  he  was 
cured,  he  offered  a  single  combat  to  the  chief  of  the 
family,  by  whose  procurement  it  was  thought  the 
mischief  was  committed ;  but,  he  disclaiming  wholly 
the  action  as  not  done  by  his  consent,  which  he  offered 
to  testify  by  oath,  and  the  villain  himself  Hying  into 
Ireland,  whence  he  never  returned,  my  fatlier  desisted 
from  prosecuting  the  business  any  fartlier  in  that  kind, 
and  attained,  notwitlistanding  the  said  liurt,  tliat  health 
and  strength  that  he  returned  to  liis  former  exercises 
in  a  country  life,  and  became  the  fatlier  of  many  chil- 
dren. As  for  his  integrity  in  his  i)laces  of  deputy  lieu- 
tenant of  the  county,  justice  of  the  peace,  and  custos 
rotulorum,  wliicli  lie,  as  my  grandfather  before  him, 
held,  it  is  so  niemonilde  to  this  day  that  it  was  said  his 


24  THE    LIFE    OF 

enemies  appealed  to  him  for  justice,  which  they  also 
fomul  on  all  occasions.  His  learning  was  nvt  vnlgar, 
as  understanding  well  the  Latin  tongue,  and  heing  well 
versed  in  history.  My  gi-audfather  was  of  a  various 
life :  beginning  first  at  court,  where,  after  he  had  spent 
most  part  of  his  means,  he  became  a  soldier,  and  made 
his  fortune  witli  his  sword  at  the  siege  of  St.  Quintens 
in  France  and  other  wars,  both  in  the  north  and  in  the 
rebellious  happening  in  the  times  of  King  Edward  the 
Sixth  aud  Queen  Mary,  with  so  good  success  that  he  not 
only  came  off  still  with  the  better,  but  got  so  much 
money  and  wealth  as  enabled  him  to  buy  the  greatest 
part  of  that  livelihood  which  is  descended  to  me ; 
thongh  yet  I  hidd  some  lands  which  his  mother,  the 
Lady  Ann  Herbert,  purchased,  as  appears  by  the  deeds 
made  to  her  by  that  name,  which  I  can  show ;  and 
might  have  held  more,  which  my  grandfather  sold 
underfoot  at  an  under  value  in  his  youtli,  and  miglit 
have  been  recovered  by  my  father  had  my  grandfather 
suffered  him.  ]\Iy  grandfather  was  noted  to  be  a  great 
enemy  to  the  outlaws  and  thieves  of  his  time,  who 
robbed  in  great  numbers  in  the  mountains  in  Montgom- 
eryshire, for  the  suppressing  of  whom  he  went  often 
both  day  and  night  to  the  places  where  they  were ;  con- 
cerning whicli,  tliough  many  particulars  have  been  told 
me,  I  shall  mention  one  only.  Some  outlaws  being 
lodged  in  an  alehouse  upon  the  hills  of  Llandinam,  my 
grandfather  and  a  few  servants  coming  to  apprehend 
them,  the  principal  outlaw  shot  an  arrow  against  my 
grandfather,  which  stuck  iu  the  jionnmd  of  his  saddle; 
whereu])<in  u\y  grandfather  ('(iniing  up  to  him  with 
his  sword  in  his  liaud,  and  taking  him  prisoner,  he 
showed  him  the  said  arrow,  bidding  him  look  what  he 
liad  done,  whereof  the  outlaw  was  no  farther  sensible 


EDWAKD   LORD    HERBERT.  25 

than  to  say  he  \Avas  sorry  that  he  left  his  better  bow 
at  home,  which  he  conceived  woukl  have  carried  his 
shot  to  his  body ;  but  the  outhiw,  being  brought  to 
justice,  suffered  for  it.  My  grandfatlier's  power  was 
so  great  in  the  country  that  divers  ancestors  of  the 
better  families  now  in  Montgomeryshire  were  his  ser- 
vants and  raised  by  him.  He  delighted  also  much  in 
hospitality,  as  having  a  very  long  table  twice  covered 
every  meal  with  the  best  meats  that  could  be  gotten, 
and  a  very  great  family.  It  was  an  ordinary  saying  in 
the  country  at  that  time  when  they  saw  any  fowl  rise, 
"  Fly  where  thou  wilt,  thou  wilt  light  at  Black  hall," 
which  was  a  low  building,  but  of  great  capacity,  my 
grandfather  erected  in  his  age ;  his  father  and  himself 
in  former  times  having  lived  in  Montgomery  Castle. 
NotwitlistaniUng  yet  these  expenses  at  honn^,  lio  brought 
up  his  children  well,  married  his  daughters  to  the  better 
sort  of  persons  near  him,  bringing  up  his  younger 
sons  at  the  university ;  fr(  im  whence  his  son  Matthew 
went  to  the  Low  Country  wars,  and  after  some  time 
spent  there  came  home  and  lived  in  the  country  at 
Dolegeog,  np<in  a  house  and  fair  living  which  my 
grandfather  bestowed  upon  him.  His  son  also,  Charles 
Herbert,  after  he  had  pased  some  time  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, likewise  returned  home,  and  was  after  married 
to  an  inheritrix,  whose  eldest  son,  called  Sir  Edward 
Herbert,  Knt.,  is  the  king's  attorney-general.  His  sou 
George,  who  was  of  New  College  in  Oxford,  was  very 
learned,  and  of  a  pious  life,  died  in  a  middle  age  of 
a  dropsy. 

Notwithstanding  all  wliich  occasions  of  expense,  my 
grandfather  i)urchased  mucli  lands,  witliout  doing  any- 
thing yet  unjustly  or  hardly,  as  may  Im;  coUected  by 
an  ofler  I   have   publicly   made  divers  times,  having 


26  THE   LIFE   OF 

given  my  bailiff  in  charge  to  proclaim  to  the  country, 
that  if  any  lands  were  gotten  by  evil  means,  or  so 
much  as  hardly,  they  should  he  compounded  f(  r,  or 
restored  again  ;  hut  to  tliis  day,  never  any  man  yet 
complained  to  me  in  this  kind.  He  died  at  the  age  of 
fourscore  or  thereabouts,  and  was  buried  in  Montgom- 
ery church,  without  having  any  monument  made  fttr 
him,  which  yet  for  my  father  is  there  set  up  in  a 
fixir  manner.  My  great-grandfather,  Sir  Richard  Her- 
bert, was  steward  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the 
Eighth,  of  the  lordships  and  marches  of  North  Wales, 
East  Wales,  and  Cardiganshire,  and  had  ])ower,  in  a 
martial  law,  to  execute  ofienders  ;  in  tlie  using  thereof 
he  was  so  just  that  he  acquired  to  himself  a  singular 
reputation,  as  may  appear  upon  the  records  of  that 
time,  kept  in  the  paper-chamber  at  Whitehall,  some 
touch  whereof  I  have  made  in  my  "  History  of 
Henry  the  Eighth  "  ;  of  him  I  can  say  little  more  than 
that  he  likewise  was  a  great  suppressor  of  rebels, 
thieves,  and  outlaws,  and  that  he  was  just  and  cou- 
scionahle;  for  if  a  false  or  cruel  person  had  that 
power  committed  to  his  hands,  he  would  have  raised 
a  great  fortune  out  of  it,  whereof  he  left  little,  save 
what  his  father  gave  him,  unto  posterity.  He  lieth 
buried  likewise  in  Montgomery ;  the  upper  monu- 
ment of  the  two  placed  in  the  chancel  being  erected 
for  him.  IVIy  great-great-grandfather,  Sir  Eichard 
Herbert  of  C(dehrook,  was  that  incomparable  hero  who 
(in  the  history  of  Hall  and  Grafton, as  it  appears)  twice 
passed  tlirough  a  great  army  of  northern  men  alone, 
with  his  poll-axe  in  his  hand,  and  returned  without 
any  mortal  hurt,  which  is  more  than  is  famed  of  Ama- 
dis  de  Gaul,  or  the  Knight  of  the  Sun.  I  shall,  besides 
this  relation  of  Sir  Eichard  Herbert's  prowess  in  the 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  27 

bittle  at  B.anbury  or  Edgccott  Hill,  —  being  the  place 
where  the  hite  battle  was  fought,  — deliver  soiiu^  tra- 
ditions concerning  him,  which  1  have  received  from  good 
hands  ;  one  is,  that  the  said  Sir  Richard  Herbert,  being 
employed,  together  with  his  brother  AVilliam,  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  to  reduce  certain*  rebels  in  North  Wales, 
Sir  Richard  Herbert  besieged  a  principal  person  of 
them  at  Harlech  Castle  in  Merionethshire  ;  the  captain 
of  this  place  had  been  a  sokher  in  the  wars  of  France, 
whereupon  he  said  he  had  kept  a  castle  in  France  so 
long  that  he  made  the  old  women  in  Wales  talk  of 
him ;  and  that  he  would  keep  the  castle  so  long  that 
he  would  make  the  old  women  in  France  talk  of  him ; 
and  indeed,  as  the  place  was  almost  impregnable  but 
by  famine,  Sir  Richard  Herbert  was  constrained  to  take 
him  in  by  composition,  he  surrendering  himself  upon 
condition  that  Sir  Richard  Herbert  should  do  what  he 
could  to  save  his  life,  which  being  accepted.  Sir  Rich- 
ard brought  him  to  King  Edward  the  Fourth,  desiring 
his  highness  to  give  him  a  pardon,  since  he  yielded 
up  a  place  of  importance,  which  he  might  have  kept 
longer,  upon  this  hope ;  but  the  king  replying  to  Sir 
Richard  Herbert  that  he  had  no  power  by  his  commis- 
sion to  pardon  any,  and  therefore  might,  after  the  rep- 
resentation hereof  to  his  majesty,  safe  deliver  him  up 
to  justice.  Sir  Richard  Herbert  answered  he  had  not 

*  It  was  an  insuriTctioii  in  the  ninth  year  of  Edward  tlie  Fourtli, 
headed  by  Sir  John  Coniers  and  Robert  Riddesdale,  in  favor  of  Heury 
the  Sixth.  Tliis  William,  Earl  of  I'emliroke,  and  his  hrotlier  Sir  Richard 
Herbert  beini;  sent  against  them,  were  to  be  joined  liy  the  Earl  of  Dev- 
onshire, but,  a  squablile  happening  between  tlie  two  earls  aliout  qnarters, 
the  Earl  of  Devonshire  separated  froLii  Pembroke,  who,  engaging  the 
enemy  at  Danesmoore  near  Edgecott  m  Northamptonshire,  was  defeated 
and  taken  prisoner,  with  Ids  brother,  and  both  were  put  to  death,  with 
Kiehard  Wid\ille,  Earl  Rivers,  father  of  the  queen,  by  command  of  the 
Dakcof  Clarence  and  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  who  had  re\olted  from  Edward. 


28  THE    LIFE    OF 

yet  (lone  the  best  he  couhl  fur  liim,  and  therefore  most 
humbly  desired  his  higlmoss  to  do  one  of  two  things, 
either  to  put  him  again  in  the  castle  where  he  was, 
and  command  some  other  to  take  him  out,  or,  if  his 
highness  would  not  do  so,  to  take  his  life  for  the  said 
captain's,  that  being  the  last  proof  he  could  give  that 
he  used  his  uttermost  endeavor  to  save  the  said  cap- 
tain's life.     The  king,  finding  himself  urged  thus  far, 
gave  Sir  Eichard  Herbert  the  life  of  the  said  captain, 
but  withal  he  bestowed  no  f)ther  reward  for  his  service. 
The   other   history   is   that   Sir   Richard    Herbert, 
together   with   his   brother  the    Earl   of    Pembroke, 
being  in  Anglesey  apprehending  there  seven  brothers 
which  had  done  many  mischiefs  and  murders,  in  these 
times  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  thinking  it  fit  to  root  out 
so   wicked   a  progeny,    commanded   them   all   to  be 
hanged  ;  whereupon  the  mother  of  them,  coming  to  the 
Earl  of  Pembroke,  upon  her  knees  desired   him   to 
pardon  two,  or  at  leastwise  one,  of  her  said  sons,  atfirm- 
ing  that  the  rest  were  sufficient  to  satisfy  justice  or 
exam])le,  which  request  also  Sir  Eichard  Herbert  sec- 
onded ;  but  the  earl,  finding  them  all  equally  guilty, 
said  he  could  make  no  distinction  betwixt  them,  and 
therefore  commanded  them  to  be  executed  together; 
at  which  the  mother  was  so  aggrieved   that  with  a 
pair  of  woollen  beads  on  her  arms,  for  so  the  relation 
goeth,  she  on  her  knees  cursed  him,  praying  God's 
mischief  might   fall   to   him   in   the   first    battle    he 
should  make :    the  earl  after   this,   coming  with  his 
brother  to  Edgecott  field,  as  is  before  set  down,  after  he 
had  put  his  men  in  order  to  fight,  found  his  brother 
Sir  Eichard  Herbert  in  the  head  of  his  men,  leaning 
upon  his  poll-axe  iu  a  kind  of  sad  or  })ensive  manner, 
whereupon   the   earl   said,  ''  What,    doth    thy  great 


EDWARD   LOED    HERBERT.  29 

body,"  for  lie  was  liii^lier  by  tbo  head  tliau  any  cue  ia 
the  army,  "  ai)iireheiul  anything  that  thou  art  so  mel- 
ancholy, or  art  thou  weary  with  marching,  tliat  thou 
dost  lean  thus  upon  thy  poll-axe  1 "  Sir  IJichard  Her- 
bert replied  that  he  was  neither  of  both,  whereof  he 
should  see  the  proof  presently;  "only  I  cannot  but 
apprehend  on  your  part,  least  the  curse  of  the  woman 
with  the  wo(dlen  beads  fall  upon  you."  This  Sir 
Richard  Herbert  lieth  buried  in  Abergavenny,  in  a 
sumptuous  monument  for  those  times,  which  still  re- 
mains, whereas  his  brother,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
being  buried  in  Tintern  Abbey,  his  monument  to- 
gether with  the  church  lie  now  wholly  defaced  and 
ruined.  This  Earl  of  Pembroke  had  a  younger  son, 
which  had  a  daughter  which  married  the  eldest  son  of 
the  Earl  of  Worcester,  who  carried  away  the  foir 
castle  of  Ragland,  with  many  thousand  pounds  yearly 
from  the  heir  male  of  that  house,  which  was  the 
second  son  of  the  said  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  ances- 
tor of  the  family  of  St.  Gillians,  whose  daughter  and 
heir  I  after  married,  as  shall  be  told  in  its  place. 
And  here  it  is  very  remarkable  that  tlie  younger  sons 
of  the  said  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  Sir  Richard  Her- 
bert left  their  posterity  after  them,  who  in  the  person 
of  myself  and  my  wife  united  both  houses  again,  which 
is  the  more  memorable,  that  when  the  said  Earl  of 
Pembroke  and  Sir  Richard  Herbert  were  taken  prison- 
ers in  defending  the  just  cause  of  Edward  the  Fourth, 
at  the  battle  above  said,  the  earl  never  entreated  that 
his  own  life  might  be  saved,  but  his  brother's,  as  it 
appears  by  the  said  history.  So  that  joining  of  both 
houses  together  in  my  posterity  ought  to  produce  a  per- 
petual obligation  of  friendsliip  and  mutual  love  in  tliem 
one  to  anotlier,  since  by  tliese  two  brothers  so  brave 


30  THE    LIFE   OF 

an  example  thereof  was  given,  as  seeming  not  to  live 
or  (.lie  but  f<ir  one  Jinotlier. 

My  mother  was  Magdalen  Newport,  daughter  of  Sir 
Kichard  Newport  and  IMargaret  his  wife,  daughter  and 
heir  of  Sir  Thomas  l?rondey,  one  of  the  ]irivy  council 
and  executor  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  who  surviving 
her  husband  gave  rare  testimonies  of  an  incomparable 
piety  to  God,  and  love  to  her  children,  as  being  most 
assiduous  and  devout  in  her  daily,  both  private  and 
public,  prayers,  and  so  careful  to  ])rovide  for  her  pos- 
terity that  though  it  was  in  hei-  power  to  give  her  es- 
tate (which  was  very  great)  to  whom  she  would,  yet 
she  continued  still  unmarried,  and  so  provident  for  them 
that  after  she  had  bestowed  all  her  danghters  with 
sufficient  portions  upon  very  good  neighboring  fami- 
lies, she  delivered  up  her  estate  and  care  of  liouse- 
keeping  to  her  eldest  son  Francis,  when  now  slie  had 
for  many  years  kept  hospitality  with  that  plenty  and 
order  as  exceeded  all  either  of  her  country  or  time ; 
for,  besides  abundance  of  provision  and  go(jd  cheer  for 
guests,  which  her  son  Sir  Francis  Newport  continued, 
she  used  ever  after  dinner  to  distribute,  with  her  own 
hands,  to  the  poor,  who  resorted  to  her  in  great  num- 
bers, alms  in  money,  to  every  one  of  them,  more  or 
less,  as  she  thought  they  needed  it.  By  these  ances- 
tors I  am  descended  of  Talbot,  Devoreux,  Gray,  Corbet, 
and  many  other  noble  families,  as  may  be  seen  iu  their 
matches,  extant  in  the  many  fjxir  coats  the  Newports 
bear.  I  could  say  much  more  of  my  ancestors  of  that 
side  likewise,  but  that  I  should  exceed  my  proposed 
sco}ie.  I  shall  therefore  only  say  somewhat  more  of 
my  mother,  my  l>rothers,  and  sisters;  and  for  my 
mother,  after  she  lived  most  virtuously  and  lovingly 
with  her  husband  for  many  years,  she  after  his  death 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  ol 

erected  a  fair  monument  for  him  in  Montgomery 
church;  brought  up  her  chikh-en  carefully,  and  put 
them  in  good  courses  for  making  their  fortunes,  and, 
briefly,  was  that  woman  Dr.  Donne  hath  described  in 
his  funeral  sermon  of  her  printed.  The  names  of  her 
children  were,  Edward,  Richard,  William,  Charles, 
George,  Henry,  Thoums ;  her  daughters  were,  Eliza- 
beth, Margaret,  Frances;  of  all  whom  I  will  say  a 
little  before  I  begin  a  narration  of  my  own  life,  so  I 
may  pursue  my  intended  purpose  the  more  entirely. 

My  brother  Richard,  after  he  had  been  brought  up 
in  learning,  went  to  the  Low  Countries,  where  he  con- 
tinued many  years  with  much  reputation,  both  in  the 
wars,  and  for  fighting  single  duels,  which  were  many, 
insomuch  that  between  both,  he  carried  as  I  have  been 
tt)ld,  the  scars  of  f  lur  and  twenty  wounds  upon  him 
to  his  grave,  and  lies  buried  in  Bergeu-opzoom.  My 
brother  William,  being  brought  up  Ukewise  in  learning, 
went  afterwards  to  the  wars  in  Denmark,  where,  fight- 
ing a  single  combat,  and  having  his  sword  broken,  he 
not  only  defended  himself  with  that  piece  which  re- 
mained, but,  closing  with  his  adversary,  threw  him 
down,  and  so  held  him  until  company  came  in ;  and 
then  went  to  the  wars  in  the  Low  Countries,  but  lived 
not  long  after ;  my  brother  Charles  was  fellow  of  New 
College,  in  Oxford,  where  he  died  young,  after  he  had 
given  great  hopes  of  himself  every  way.  My  brother* 
George  was  so  excellent  a  scholar  that  he  was  made 

*  He  liad  studied  foreign  languages  in  hopes  of  rising  to  be  secretarj' 
of  state,  but,  l)eing  disappointed  in  his  views  at  court,  he  took  orders, 
became  prebend  of  Lincoln,  and  rector  of  Beiuerton  near  Salisbury.  He 
died  l)et\veeu  Ui:?0  and  IfUO.  His  poems  were  printed  at  London  in  IfioS, 
under  the  title  of  "  TheTemjile"  ;  and  liis  "Piicst  to  the  Temple,"  in  IGoi!. 
Lord  Bacon  dedicated  to  lum  a  translation  of  some  psalms  into  English 
verse. 


o 


2  THE   LIFE   OF 


the  pnLlie  orator  of  the  University  in  Camhriilge,  some 
of  whose  English  works  are  extant,  which.,  though 
they  be  rare  in  their  kind,  yet  are  far  short  of  express- 
ing those  perfections  he  had  in  the  Greek  and  Latin 
tongue,  and  all  divine  and  human  literature ;  his  wife 
was  most  h<;)ly  and  exemplary,  insomuch  that  about 
Salisbury,  where  he  lived  beneficed  for  many  years,  he 
was  little  less  than  sainted :  he  was  not  exempt  from 
passion  and  choler,  being  infirmities  to  wliich  all  our 
race  is  subject,  but,  that  excepted,  without  reproach  in 
his  actions.  Henry,  after  he  had  been  brought  up  in 
learning  as  the  other  brothers  were,  was  sent  by  his 
friends  into  France,  where  he  attained  the  language  of 
that  country  in  much  perfection,  after  which  time  he 
came  to  court,  and  was  made  gentleman  of  the  king's 
privy-chamber,  and  master  of  the  revels,  by  which 
means,  as  also  by  a  good  marriage,  he  attained  to  great 
fortunes,  for  himself  and  posterity  to  enjoy :  he  also 
hath  given  several  proofs  of  his  courage  in  duels,  and 
otherwise,  being  no  less  dexterous  in  the  ways  of  the 
court,  as  having  gotten  much  by  it. 

My  brother  Thomas  was  a  posthumous,  as  being 
born  some  weeks  after  his  father's  death;  he,  also 
being  brought  up  a  while  at  school,  was  sent  as  a 
page  to  Sir  Edward  Cecil,*  lord  general  of  his  majesty's 
auxiliary  forces  to  the  princes  in  Germany,  and  was 
particularly  at  the  siege  of  Juliers,  Anno  Dom.  1610, 
where  he  showed  such  forwardness  as  no  man  in  that 
great  army  before  him  was  more  adventurous  on  aU 
occasions.  Being  returned  from  thence,  he  w^eut  to 
the  East  Indies  under  the  command  of  Captain  Josei)h, 
who,  in  his  way  thither,  meeting  with  a  great  Spanish 

*  Afterwards  Viscount  Wimbledon.  See  an  accouut  of  him  in  "  The 
Uojal  and  Noble  Aulliors." 


EDWAED    LORD    HERBERT.  33 

ship,  was  nnfortniiatoly  killed  in  fifflit  ■with  them ; 
whereupon,  his  men  being  disheartened,  my  brother 
Th(nnas  encouraged  them  to  revenge  the  loss,  and 
renewed  the  fight  in  that  manner  (as  Sir  John  Smyth, 
governor  of  the  East  India  Company,  t(dd  me  at  several 
times)  that  they  forced  the  Spanish  ship  to  run 
aground,  where  the  English  shot  her  through  and 
through  so  often  that  she  ran  herself  aground,  and 
was  left  wholly  unserviceable.  After  which  time  he 
with  the  rest  of  the  fleet  came  to  Suratte,  and  from 
thence  went  with  the  merchants  to  the  Great  Mogul, 
where,  after  he  had  stayed  about  a  twelvemonth,  he 
returned  with  the  same  fleet  back  again  to  England. 
After  this  he  went  in  the  navy  which  King  James 
sent  to  Argier,  under  the  command  of  Sir  Robert  Man- 
sell,  where  our  men  being  in  great  want  of  money 
and  victuals,  and  many  ships  scattering  themselves 
to  try  whether  they  could  obtain  a  prize  whereby  to 
relieve  the  whole  fleet,  it  was  his  hap  to  meet  with  a 
ship,  which  he  took,  and  in  it  to  the  value  of  eighteen 
hundred  pounds,  which  it  was  thought  saved  the  whole 
fleet  from  perishing :  he  conducted  also  Count  Mans- 
feldt  to  the  Low  Countries  in  one  of  the  king's  ships, 
which  being  unfortunately  cast  away  not  far  fr()m  the 
shore,  the  count  together  with  his  company  saved 
themselves  in  a  long  boat  or  shallop,  the  benefit  whereof 
my  said  brother  refused  to  take  for  the  present,  as 
resolving  to  assist  the  master  of  the  ship,  who  endeav- 
ored by  all  means  to  clear  the  ship  from  the  danger ; 
but,  finding  it  impossible,  he  vi'as  the  last  man  that 
saved  himself  in  the  long  boat;  tlie  master  thereof 
yet  refusing  to  come  away,  so  that  he  jiei-ished  together 
with  the  ship.  After  this,  he  commanded  one  of  the 
ships  that  were  sent  to  bring  the  prince  from  Spain, 


34  THE   LIFE   OF 

where,  upon  his  return,  there  being  a  fight  between 
the  Low  Countrymen  and  the  Dunlvirkers,  the  prince, 
wlio  thought  it  was  not  for  his  dignity  to  suffer  theni 
to  fight  in  his  jn'fsence,  commanded  some  of  his  ships 
to  part  them,  whereupon  my  said  brother  with  some 
other  ships  got  betwixt  them  on  either  side,  and  shot 
so  long  that  both  parties  were  ghul  to  desist.  After 
he  had  brought  the  prince  safely  home,  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  go  with  one  of  the  king's  ships  to  the  nar- 
row seas :  he  also  fought  divers  times  with  great 
courage  and  success  with  divers  men  in  single  fight, 
sometimes  hurting  and  disarming  his  adA'ersary,  and 
sometimes  driving  him  away:  after  all  these  proofs 
given  of  himself,  he  expected  some  great  command, 
but,  finding  himself  as  he  thought  undervalued,  he 
retired  to  a  private  and  melancholy  life,  being  much 
discontented  to  find  others  preferred  to  him  ;  in  which 
suUen  humor  having  lived  many  years,  he  died  and 
was  buried  in  London,  in  St.  Martin's  near  Charing 
Cross,  so  that  of  all  my  brothers  none  survives  but 
Heiuy. 

I  sliall  now  come  to  myself.  I  was  born  at  Eytcm 
in  Shropshire  (being  a  house  which  together  with  fair 
lands  descended  upon  the  Newports  by  my  said  grand- 
mother), between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  one  of  tlie 
clock  in  the  morning ;  my  infancy  was  very  sickly, 
my  head  continually  purging  itself  very  much  by  my 
ears,  whereupf)n  also  it  was  so  long  before  I  began  to 
speak  that  many  thought  I  sliould  be  ever  dumb  :  the 
very  farthest  thing  I  remember  is  that  when  I  under- 
stood what  was  said  by  otiicrs  I  did  yet  forbear  to 
speak,  lest  I  should  utter  something  that  was  imperfect 
or  impertinent ;  when  I  came  to  talk,  one  of  the 
farthest   inciuirics   I  made  was  liow  I   came  into  this 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  35 


world.  I  told  my  nurse,  keoppr,  and  others,  I  found 
myself  liorc  indeed,  l)ut  from  wliat  cause  or  beginning 
or  by  what  means  1  could  not  inuigine ;  but  for  this  as 
I  was  laughed  at  by  nurse  and  some  other  women  that 
were  then  present,  so  I  was  wondered  at  by  others, 
who  said  they  never  heanl  a  child  but  myself  ask  that 
question;  upon  which,  when  I  came  to  riper  years,  I 
made  this  observation,  which  afterwards  a  little  com- 
forted me,  that  as  I  found  myself  in  possession  of  this 
life  without  knowing  anything  of  the  pangs  and  throes 
my  mother  suffered,  when  yet  doubtless  they  did  no 
less  press  and  afflict  me  than  her,  so  I  hope  my  soul 
shall  pass  to  a  better  life  than  this  without  being 
sensible  of  the  anguish  and  pains  my  body  shall  feel 
in  death.  For,  as  I  believe  then  I  shall  be  trans- 
mitted to  a  more  happy  estate  by  God's  great  grace,  I 
am  confident  I  shall  no  more  know  how  I  came  out  of 
this  world  than  how  I  came  into  it. 

And  certainly  since  in  my  mother's  womb  this  plastica 
or  formatrix  wliich  formed  my  eyes,  ears,  and  other 
senses,  did  not  intend  them  for  that  dark  and  noisome 
place,  but  as  being  conscious  of  a  better  life,  made 
them  as  fitting  organs  to  ajiprehend  and  perceive  those 
things  which  should  occur  in  this  world,  so  I  believe 
since  my  coming  into  this  world  my  soul  hath  formed 
or  produced  certain  faculties  which  are  almost  as  use- 
less for  this  life  as  the  above-named  senses  were  for 
the  mother's  womb ;  and  these  faculties  are  hope,  faith, 
love,  and  joy,  since  they  never  rest  or  fix  upon  any 
transitory  or  perishing  object  in  this  world,  as  extend- 
ing themselves  to  something  farther  than  can  be  here 
given,  and  indeed  acquiesce  only  in  tlie  perfect,  eternal, 
and  infinite  :  I  confess  they  an;  of  some  use  liere,  yet 
I  appeal  to  everybody  whetlier  any  worldly  felicity  did 


o 


6  THE   LIFE   OF 


so  satisfy  tlicir  hope  here,  that  they  did  not  wish  and 
liope  for  something  more  excellent;  or  whether  they 
had  ever  that  faith  in  their  own  wisdom,  or  in  the  help 
of  man,  that  they  were  not  constrained  to  have  recourse 
to  some  diviner  and  superior  power  than  they  could  find 
on  earth,  to  relieve  them  in  their  danger  or  necessity; 
whether  ever  they  could  place  their  love  on  any  earthly 
beauty,  that  it  did  not  fade  and  wither,  if  not  frustrate 
or  deceive  them  ;  or  whether  ever  their  joy  was  so  con- 
summate in  anytliing  they  delighted  in,  that  they  did 
not  want  much  more  than  it,  or  indeed  this  world  can 
afl'ord,  to  make  tliem  happy.  The  proper  objects  of 
these  faculties,  therefore,  though  framed  or  at  least 
appearing  in  this  world,  is  God  only,  upon  whom  faith, 
hope,  and  love  were  never  placed  in  vain,  or  remain 
long  unrequited :  hut  to  leave  these  discourses  and 
come  to  my  childhood  again  ;  I  remember  this  defluc- 
tion  at  my  ears  above-mentioned  continued  in  that 
violence  that  my  friends  did  not  think  fit  to  teach  me 
so  much  as  my  alphabet  until  I  was  seven  years  old, 
at  which  time  my  detluction  ceased,  and  left  me  free  of 
the  disease  my  ancestoi's  were  subject  unto,  being  the 
epilepsy.  My  schocdmaster,  in  the  house  of  my  said 
lady  grandmother,  began  then  to  teach  me  the  alpha- 
bet, and  afterwards  grammar,  and  other  boctks  com- 
monly read  in  schools,  in  which  I  profited  so  much 
that  upon  this  theme,  "  Audaces  fortuna  juvat,"  I 
made  an  oration  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  fifty  or  sixty 
verses  in  the  space  of  one  day.  I  remember  in  that 
time  I  was  corrected  sometimes  for  going  to  cuffs  with 
two  school-fellows,  being  both  older  than  myself,  but 
never  for  telling  a  lie  or  any  other  fauh,  my  natural 
dispositicm  and  inclination  being  so  contrary  to  all 
falsehood  that,  Ix  itig  demanded  v.iu  tlur  I  had  com 


EDWARD   LORD    IIEUBEIIT.  37 

mitted  any  foult  whereof  I  might  ho  justly  suspected, 
I  did  use  ever  t(i  confess  it  freely,  and  thereupon  choos- 
ing rather  to  suffer  correction  than  to  stain  my  mind 
with  telling  a  lie,  which  I  did  judge  tlien  no  time  could 
ever  deface;  and  I  can  affirm  to  all  the  world  truly, 
that  from  my  first  infancy  ti»  this  hour  I  told  not  will- 
ingly anything  that  was  felse,  my  soul  naturally  hav- 
ing an  antipathy  to  lying  and  deceit.  After  I  had 
attained  the  age  of  nine,  during  all  which  time  I  lived 
in  my  said  lady  grandmother's  house  at  Eyton,  my 
I^arents  thought  fit  to  send  me  to  some  place  where  I 
might  leani  the  Welsh  tongue,  as  believing  it  neces- 
sary to  enable  me  to  treat  with  those  of  my  friends  and 
tenants  who  understood  no  other  language,  whereupon 
I  was  recommended  to  Mr.  Edward  Thellwall,  of  Place- 
ward,  in  Denbighshire ;  this  gentleman  I  must  remem- 
ber with  honor,  as  having  of  himself  acquired  the  exact 
knowledge  of  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian,  and  Span- 
ish, and  all  other  learning,  having  for  that  purpose 
neither  gone  beyond  seas,  nor  so  much  as  had  the 
benefit  of  any  universities.  Besides,  he  was  of  that 
rare  temper  in  governing  his  choler  that  I  never  saw 
him  angry  duriug  the  time  of  my  stay  there,  and  have 
heard  so  much  of  hhn  for  many  years  before.  When 
occasion  of  offence  was  given  him  I  have  seen  him 
seldom  redden  in  the  face,  and  after  remain  for  a  while 
silent,  but  when  he  spoke  his  words  were  so  calm  and 
gentle,  that  I  found  he  had  digested  his  choler,  although 
yet  I  confess  I  could  never  attain  that  perfection,  as 
being  subject  ever  to  choler  and  passion  more  than  I 
ought,  and  generally  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  and  in- 
deed rather  to  imitate  those  who,  having  fire  within 
doors,  choose  rather  to  give  it  vent  than  suffer  it  to 
burn  the  house.    1  commend  yet  much  more  the  manner 


38  THE   LIFE   OF 

of  Mr.  Thcll\A"all,  and  certainly  he  that  can  fdrhear 
.speaking  for  some  wliile  will  remit  much  of  his  pas- 
sion, hut  as  I  could  not  leani  much  of  hhn  in  this  hind, 
BO  1  did  as  little  profit  in  learning  the  Welsh  or  any 
other  of  those  languages  that  worthy  gentleman  under- 
stood, as  having  a  tertian  ague  for  the  most  part  of 
nine  mouths,  which  was  all  the  time  I  stayed  in  his 
house;  having  recovered  my  strength  again,  I  was 
sent,  heing  ahout  the  age  of  ten,  to  be  taught  hy  one 
Mr.  Newton,  at  Diddlehury,  in  Shropshire,  where,  in 
the  space  of  less  than  two  years,  I  not  only  recovered 
all  I  had  lost  in  my  sickness,  hut  attained  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  Greek  tongue  and  logic,  insomuch 
that  at  twelve  years  old  my  parents  thought  fit  to  send 
me  to  Oxford  to  University  College,  where  I  rcmemher 
to  have  disputed  at  my  first  coming  in  logic,  and  to 
have  made  in  Greek  the  exercises  re(piired  in  that  col- 
lege, oftener  than  in  Latin. 

I  had  not  been  many  months  in  the  university,  hut 
news  was  brought  me  of  my  father's  death,  his  sick- 
ness heing  a  lethargy,  caros,  or  coma  vigilans,  which 
continued  long  upon  him ;  he  seemed  at  last  to  die 
without  much  pain,  although  in  his  senses.  Upon 
<ipinion  given  hy  physicians  that  his  disease  was  mor- 
tal, my  mother  thought  fit  to  send  for  me  home,  and 
presently  after  my  father's  death  to  desire  her  brother, 
Sir  Francis  Newjjort,  to  haste  to  London  to  obtain  my 
wardship  for  his  and  her  use  jointly,  which  he  ob- 
tained. Shortly  after  I  was  sent  again  to  my  studies 
in  Oxford,  where  I  had  not  been  long  but  that  an 
overture  for  a  match  with  the  daughter  and  heir  of  Sir 
William  Herbert,  of  St.  Gillians,  was  made,  the  occa- 
sion whereof  was  this :  Sir  William  Herbert  being  heir 
male  to  the  (dd  Earl  of  Pembroke  above-mentioned,  by 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  oU 

a  younger  son  of  his  (for  the  ehlest  son  had  a  daughter 
who  carried  away  those  great  possessions  the  Earl  of 
Worcester  now  holds  in  Monmouthshire,  as  I  said  be- 
fore), having  one  only  daughter  surviving,  made  a  will 
whereby  he  estated  all  his  possessions  in  Moinnouth- 
shire  and  Ireland  upon  his  said  daughter,  upcin  con- 
ditions she  married  one  of  the  surname  of  Herbert, 
otherwise  the  said  lands  to  descend  to  the  heirs  male 
of  the  said  Sir  William  ;  and  liis  daughter  to  have  only 
a  small  portion  out  of  the  lands  he  had  in  Anglesey 
and  Carnarvonshire.  His  lands  being  thus  settled,  Sir 
William  died  shortly  afterwards.  He  was  a  man  much 
conversant  with  bo(jks,  and  especially  given  to  the 
study  of  divinity,  insomuch  that  he  writ  an  exposition 
nj)on  the  revelations  which  is  ])rinted,  althougli  some 
thouglit  he  was  as  far  from  finding  the  sense  thereof  as 
he  was  from  attaining  the  philosopher's  stone,  which 
was  another  part  of  his  study  ;  howsoever  he  was  very 
understanding  in  all  other  things,  he  was  noted  yet  to 
be  of  a  very  high  mind,  but  I  can  say  little  of  him,  as 
having  never  seen  his  person,  nor  otherwise  had  much 
information  concerning  him.  His  daughter  and  heir, 
called  Mary,  after  her  father  died,  continued  unmarried 
till  she  was  one-and-twenty,  none  of  the  Herberts  ap- 
pearing in  all  that  time  who  either  in  age  or  fortune 
was  fit  to  match  her :  about  this  time  I  had  attained 
the  age  of  fifteen,  and  a  match  at  last  being  proposed, 
yet,  notwithstanding  the  disparity  of  years  betwixt  us, 
upon  the  eight-and-twentieth  of  February,  1598,  in 
the  house  of  Eyton,  whore  the  same  man.  Vicar  of 

,    married   my   father   and   mother,    christened 

and  manied  me,  I  espoused  her.  Not  long  after  my 
marriage,  I  went  again  to  Oxford,  together  with  my  wife 
and  mother,  who  took  a  house  and  lived  for  some  cer- 


40  THE   LIFE    OF 

tain  time  there;  and  I  now  followed  my  book  more 
close  than  ever,  in  which  course  I  continued  till  I 
attained  about  the  age  of  eighteen,  when  my  mother 
took  a  house  in  London,  between  which  place  and 
Montgomery  Castle  I  passed  my  time  till  I  came  to  the 
age  of  one-and-twenty,  having  in  that  space  divers 
children,  I  having  now  none  remaining  but  Beatrice, 
Eichard,  and  Edward.  During  this  time  of  living  in 
the  university  or  at  home,  I  did  without  any  master 
or  teacher  attain  the  knowledge  of  the  French,  Italian, 
and  Spanish  languages,  by  the  help  of  some  books  in 
Latin  or  English  translated  into  those  idioms,  and  the 
dictionaries  of  those  several  languages ;  I  attained  also 
to  sing  my  part  at  first  sight  in  music,  and  to  play  on 
the  lute  with  very  little  or  almost  no  teaching.  My  in- 
tention in  learning  languages  being  to  malvc  myself  a 
citizen  of  the  world  as  far  as  it  were  possible  ;  and  my 
learning  of  music  was  for  this  end,  that  I  might  enter- 
tain myself  at  home,  and  together  refresh  my  mind 
after  my  studies,  to  which  I  was  exceedingly  inclined, 
and  that  I  might  not  need  the  company  of  young  men, 
in  whom  I  observed  in  those  times  much  ill  example 
and  debauchery. 

Being  gotten  thus  far  into  my  age,  I  shall  give  some 
observati<ms  concerning  ordinary  education,  even  from 
the  first  infancy  till  the  departure  fW>m  the  university, 
as  being  desirous  together  with  the  narration  of  my 
life  to  deliver  such  rules  as  I  conceive  may  be  useful  to 
my  posterity. 

When  children  go  to  hcIkhiI  they  should  have  one  to 
attend  them  who  may  take  care  of  their  manners  as 
well  as  the  schoolmaster  doth  of  their  learning,  for 
among  boys  all  vice  is  easily  learned,  and  here  I  could 
M-ish  it  constantly  observed,  that  neither  the  master 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBEKT.  41 

should  correct  him  fnr  faults  of  hi.s  manners,  nor  his 
governor  for  nmnuers  for  the  faults  in  his  learning. 
After  the  alphabet  is  taught,  I  like  well  the  shortest 
and  clearest  grannnars,  and  such  books  into  wliich  all 
the  Greek  and  Latin  words  are  severally  contrived,  in 
which  kind  one  CV)menus  hath  given  an  example  ;  this 
being  done,  it  would  1)e  much  better  to  proceed  with  Greek 
authors  than  witli  Latin,  for  as  it  is  as  easy  to  learn  at 
first  the  one  as  the  other,  it  would  be  much  better  to 
give  the  first  impressions  into  the  child's  memory  of 
those  things  which  are  more  rare  than  usual :  therefore 
I  would  have  them  begin  at  Greek  first,  and  the  rather 
that  there  is  not  that  art  in  the  world  wherein  the 
Greeks  have  not  excelled  and  gone  before  others ;  so 
that  when  yon  look  upon  pliilosopliy,  astronomy,  math- 
ematics, medicine,  and  briedy  all  learning,  the  Greeks 
have  exceeded  all  nations.  When  he  shall  be  ready  to 
go  to  the  university,  it  will  be  fit  also  his  governor  for 
manners  go  along  with  him,  it  being  the  frail  nature 
of  youth  as  they  grow  to  ripeness  in  age  to  be  more 
capable  of  doing  ill,  unless  their  manners  be  well 
guided,  and  themselves  by  degrees  habituated  in  virtue, 
with  which  if  once  they  acquaint  themselves  they  will 
find  more  pleasure  in  it  than  ever  they  can  do  in  vice, 
since  everybody  loves  virtuous  persons,  whereas  the 
vicious  do  scarce  love  one  another;  for  this  purpose 
it  wiU  be  necessary  that  you  keep  the  company  of 
grave,  learned  men,  who  are  of  good  reputation,  and 
hear  rather  what  they  say,  and  follow  what  they  do 
than  follow  tlie  examples  of  young,  \A-ild,  and  rash 
persons ;  and  certainly  of  those  two  parts  which  are 
to  be  acquired  in  youth,  whereof  one  is  goodness  and 
virtuous  manners,  the  other  learning  and  kntiwledge, 
I  shall  so  much  prefer  the  first  before  the  second,  as  I 


42  THE   LIFE   OF 

shall  ever  think  virtue,  accompanied  with  ordinary 
discretion,  will  make  liis  way  better  hf)th  to  happiness 
in  this  world  and  the  next,  than  any  puffed  knowledge 
which  would  cause  him  to  he  insolent  and  vainglo- 
rious, or  minister,  as  it  were,  arms  and  advantages  to 
him  for  doing  a  mischief;  so  that  it  is  pity  that  wicked 
dispositions  shouhl  have  knowledge  to  actuate  their  ill 
intentions,  or  courage  to  maintain  them,  tliat  fortitude 
which  should  defend  all  a  man's  virtues  being  never 
well  employed  to  defend  his  humors,  passions,  or  vices. 
I  do  not  approve  for  elder  brothers  that  course  of 
study  which  is  ordinary  used  in  the  university,  which 
is,  if  their  parents  perchance  intend  they  shall  stay 
three,  four,  or  five  years,  to  employ  the  said  time  as 
if  they  meant  to  proceed  masters  of  art  and  doctors  in 
some  science,  for  which  purpose  their  tutors  commonly 
spend  much  time  in  teaching  them  the  subtilities  of 
logic,  which,  as  it  is  usually  practised,  enables  them 
for  little  more  than  to  be  excellent  wranglers,  which 
art,  though  it  may  be  tolerable  in  a  mercenary  lawyer, 
I  can  by  no  means  commend  in  a  sober  and  well-gov- 
erned gentleman.  I  approve  much  those  parts  of  logic 
which  teach  men  to  deduce  their  proofs  from  firm  and 
undoubted  principles,  and  show  men  to  distinguish 
betwixt  truth  and  falsehood,  and  help  them  to  discover 
fallacies,  sophisms,  and  that  wliich  the  schf)olmen 
call  vicious  argumentations,  concerning  which  I  shall 
not  here  enter  into  a  long  discourse.  So  much  of 
logic  as  may  serve  for  this  purpose  being  acquired, 
some  good  sum  of  philosophy  may  be  learned,  which 
may  teach  him  both  the  ground  of  the  Platonic  and 
Aristotelian  philosophy.  After  M-hich  it  will  not  be 
amiss  to  read  the  "  Idea  Medicinae  Philosophicae," 
written  by  Severinus  Danus,  there  being  many  things 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  4o 

considerable  concerning  the  Paraeolsiun  principles  writ- 
ten in  that  botjk  which  are  not  to  he  found  in  former 
writers;  it  will  not  be  amiss  also  to  read  over  Frau- 
ciscus  Patricius  and  Tilesius,  wlio  have  examined 
and  controverted  the  ordinary  peripatetic  doctrine,  all 
which  may  be  performed  in  one  year,  that  term  being 
enough  for  philosophy  as  I  conceive,  and  six  months 
for  logic,  for  I  am  confident  a  man  may  have  (piicldy 
more  than  he  needs  of  these  two  arts.  These  being 
attained,  it  will  be  requisite  to  study  geography  with 
exactness,  so  much  as  may  teach  a  man  the  situation 
of  all  countries  in  the  whole  world,  together  with  which 
it  will  be  fit  to  learn  something  concerning  the  govern- 
ments, manners,  religions,  either  ancient  or  new,  as 
also  the  interests  of  states  and  relations  in  amity,  or 
strength  in  which  they  stand  to  their  neighbors ;  it 
will  be  necessary  also  at  the  same  time  to  learn  the  use 
of  the  celestial  globe,  the  studies  of  both  globes  being 
complicated  and  joined  together.  I  do  not  conceive 
yet  the  knowledge  of  judicial  astrology  so  necessary, 
but  only  for  general  predictions ;  particular  events  being 
neither  intended  by  nor  collected  out  of  the  stars.  It 
will  be  also  fit  to  learn  arithmetic  and  geometry  in 
some  good  measure,  but  especially  arithmetic,  it  being 
most  useful  fir  many  purposes,  and  among  the  rest  for 
keeping  accounts,  whereof  here  is  much  use :  as  for  the 
knowledge  of  lines,  superficies,  and  bodies,  though  it  be 
a  science  of  much  certainty  and  demonstration,  it  is 
not  much  useful  for  a  gentleman  unless  it  be  to  under- 
stand fortifications,  tlu;  knowledge  whereof  is  wortliy  of 
those  who  intend  the  wars,  though  yet  he  must  remem- 
ber that  whatsoever  art  doth  in  way  of  defence,  art 
likewise  in  way  of  assailing  can  destroy.  This  study 
hath  cost  me  much  labor,  but  as  yet  I  could  never  find 


44  THE   LIFE   OF 

how  any  place  could  l>e  so  fortified  Lot  that  there 
were  means  in  certain  opposite  lines  to  prevent  or 
subvert  all  that  could  he  done  in  that  kind.  It  will 
become  a  gentleman  to  have  some  knowledge  in  med- 
icine, especially  the  diagnostic  part,  whereby  he  may 
take  timely  notice  of  a  disease,  and  by  that  means 
timely  prevent  it,  as  also  the  prognostic  part,  whereby 
he  may  judge  of  the  symptoms  either  increasing  or 
decreasing  in  the  disease,  as  also  concerning  the  crisis 
or  indication  thereof. 

This  art  will  get  a  gentleman  not  only  much  knowl- 
edge but  much  credit,  since  seeing  any  sick  body  he 
will  be  able  to  tell  in  all  human  })robability  whether 
he  shall  recover,  or  if  he  shall  die  of  the  disease,  to  tell 
what  signs  shall  go  before  and  what  the  conclusion 
will  be  ;  it  will  become  him  also  to  know  not  only  the 
ingredients  but  doses  of  certain  cathartic  or  purging, 
emetic  or  vomitive  medicines,  specific  or  choleric, 
melancholic  or  phlegmatic  constitutions,  phlebot- 
omy being  only  necessary  for  those  who  abound  in 
Wood  :  besides,  I  would  have  a  gentleman  kntiw  how 
to  make  these  medicines  liimself,  and  afterwards  pre- 
pare them  with  his  own  hands,  it  being  the  manner  «)f 
apothecaries  so  frequently  to  put  in  the  succedanea  that 
no  man  is  sure  to  find  with  them  medicines  made  with 
the  true  drugs  which  ought  to  enter  into  the  composi- 
tion when  it  is  exotic  or  rare;  or  when  they  are  ex- 
tant in  the  shop,  no  man  can  be  assured  that  the  said 
drugs  are  not  rotten,  or  that  they  have  not  lost  their 
natural  force  and  virtue.  I  have  studied  this  art  very 
much  also,  and  liave  in  case  of  extremity  nunistered 
physic  with  that  success  which  is  strange,  whereof  I 
shall  give  two  or  three  cxamjiles  :  Kichard  Griffiths  of 
Sutton,  my  servant,  being  sick  of  a  malignant  pestilent 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT,  45 

fever,  and  tried  in  vain  all  our  conn+ry  physicians  could 
do,  I  was  entreated  to  see  him,  wlien  as  yet  he  had 
neither  eaten,  drank,  slept,  nor  known  anyliody  f<>r  the 
space  of  six  or  seven  days,  wlierenpon  demanding 
whether  the  physicians  had  given  him  over,  and  it 
being  answered  unto  me  that  they  had,  I  said  it  would 
not  be  amiss  to  give  him  the  quantity  of  a  hazel-nut 
of  a  certain  rare  receipt  which  I  had,  assuring  that  if 
anything  in  the  world  could  recover  him,  that  would  ; 
of  which  I  was  so  confident  that  I  would  come  the 
next  day  at  four  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon  unto  him," 
and  at  that  time  I  doubted  not  but  they  should  find 
signs  of  amendment,  provided  they  should  put  the 
doses  I  gave  them,  being  about  the  bigness  of  a  nut, 
down  his  throat,  which  being  done  with  much  difficulty, 
I  came  the  morrow  after  at  the  hour  appointed,  when 
to  the  wonder  of  his  family  he  knew  me  and  asked  for 
some  broth,  and  not  long  after  recovered.  My  cousin 
Athelston  Owen, also  of  Rhue  Sayson,  having  an  hydro- 
cephale  also  in  that  extremity  that  his  eyes  began  to 
start  out  of  his  head,  and  his  tongue  to  come  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  whole  head  finally  exceeding  its  natural 
proportion,  insi>much  that  his  physicians  likewise  left 
him,  I  prescribed  to  him  the  decoction  of  two  diuretic 
roots,  which  after  he  had  drank  four  or  five  days,  his 
head  by  degrees  returned  to  its  ancient  figure,  and  all 
other  signs  of  health  appeared,  whereupon  also  he 
wrote  a  letter  to  me  that  he  was  so  suddenly  and  per- 
fectly restored  to  his  former  health,  that  it  seemed  more 
like  a  miracle  than  a  cure ;  for  those  are  the  very  words 
in  the  letter  he  sent  me. 

Having  thus  passed  over  all  human  literature,  it  will 
be  fit  to  say  something  of  moral  virtues  and  tlieological 
learning.     As  f  ir  the  first,  since  the  Christians  and  the 


4G  THE   LIFE   OF 

heathens  are  in  a  manner  asjreed  concerning  the  defi- 
nitions of  virtues,  it  would  not  be  inconvenient  to  he- 
gin  Avith  those  definitions  which  Aristotle  in  his 
"  Morals  "  hath  given,  as  being  confirmed  for  the  most 
part  by  the  Platonics,  Stoics,  and  other  philosophers, 
and  in  general  by  the  Christian  Church,  as  well  as  all 
nations  in  the  world  whatsoever ;  they  being  doctrines 
imprinted  in  the  soul  in  its  first  original,  and  contain- 
ing the  principal  and  first  notices  by  which  man  may 
attain  his  happiness  here  or  hereafter ;  there  being  no 
man  that  is  given  to  vice  that  doth  not  find  much  op- 
position both  in  his  own  conscience  and  in  the  relig- 
ion and  law  as  taught  elsewliei'c  ;  and  this  I  dare  say, 
that  a  virtuous  man  may  not  only  go  securely  through 
all  the  religions  but  all  the  laws  in  the  world,  and 
whatsoever  obstructions  he  meet,  obtain  both  an  in- 
ward peace  and  outward  welcome  among  all  with 
whom  he  shall  negotiate  or  converse;  this  virtue, 
therefore,  I  shall  recommend  to  my  posterity  as  tln^ 
greatest  perfection  he  can  attain  unto  in  this  life,  and  the 
pledge  of  eternal  happiness  hereafter,  there  being  none 
that  can  justly  hope  f)f  a  union  with  the  supreme  God 
that  doth  not  come  as  near  to  him  in  this  life  in  virtue 
and  goodness  as  he  can,  so  that  if  human  frailty  do 
interrupt  this  union  by  committing  faults  that  nuike 
him  incapable  of  his  everlasting  hapjuness,  it  will  be 
fit  by  a  serious  repentance  to  expiate  and  emaculate 
those  f;\ults,  and  for  the  rest  trust  to  the  mercy  of  God  his 
Creator,  Redeemer,  and  Preserver,  who  being  our  Father, 
and  knowing  well  in  what  a  weak  condition  through 
infirmities  we  are,  will  I  doubt  not  commiserate  those 
transgressions  we  commit  when  they  are  done  without 
desire  to  offend  his  divine  majesty,  and  together  rectify 
our  understanding  tlirough  his    grace,  since  we  com- 


EDWARD    LORD   HERBERT.  47 

monly  sin  through  uo  other  cause,  but  that  we  mistook 
a  true  good  for  that  which  was  only  apparent,  and  so 
were  deceived  by  nialviug  an  undue  election  in  the 
objects  proposed  to  us,  wherein  though  it  will  be  fit 
for  every  man  to  confess  that  he  liatli  utfeudcd  an  infi- 
nite majesty  and  power,  yet  as  upon  better  considera- 
tion he  finds  he  did  not  mean  infinitely  to  offend, 
there  will  be  just  reason  to  believe  that  God  will  not 
infiict  an  infinite  punishment  upon  him  if  he  be  truly 
penitent,  so  that  his  justice  may  be  satisfied,  if  not 
with  man's  repentance  yet  at  least  with  st)me  temporal 
punishment  here  or  hereafter,  such  as  may  l>e  propor- 
tionable to  the  offence;  though  I  cannot  deny  but  when 
man  would  infinitely  ofleud  God  in  a  despiteful  and 
contemptuous  way,  it  wiU  be  but  just  that  he  sufter  an 
infinite  punishment :  but  as  I  hope  none  are  so  wicked 
as  to  sin  purposely  and  with  a  higli  hand  against  the 
eternal  majesty  of  God,  so  when  they  shall  commit  any 
sins  out  of  frailty,  I  shall  believe,  either  that  unless 
they  be  finally  impenitent,  and  (as  they  say,  sold  inge- 
niously over  to  sin)  God's  mercy  will  accept  of  their 
endeavors  to  return  into  a  right  vvay,  and  so  make  their 
peace  with  him  by  all  those  good  means  that  are  pos- 
sible. Having  thus  recommended  the  learning  of 
moral  philos.ipliy  and  practice  of  virtue,  as  the  most 
necessary  knowledge  and  useful  exercise  of  man's  life, 
I  shall  observe  that  even  in  the  employing  of  our  vir- 
tues discretion  is  required,  for  every  virtue  is  not  pro- 
miscuously to  be  used,  but  such  only  as  is  proper  for 
the  present  occasion.  Therefore,  though  a  wary  and 
discreet  wisdom  be  most  useful  where  no  imminent 
danger  appears,  yet  where  an  enemy  draws  his  sword 
against  you,  you  sliall  have  most  use  of  fortitude,  pre- 
vention being  too  late,  when  the  danger  is  so  pressing. 


48  THE   LIFE   OF 

On  the  other  siJo,  there  is  no  occasion  to  nse  your  for- 
titude against  wrings  don<i  hy  women  or  children,  or 
ignorant  persons,  tliat  I  may  say  nothing  of  those  that 
are  much  your  superiors,  who  are  magistrates,  etc., 
since  you  might  by  a  discreet  wisdom  have  dechned 
the  injury,  or  when  it  were  too  hite  to  do  so,  you  may 
with  more  equal  mind  support  that  wliich  is  done, 
either  by  authority  in  the  one  or  frailty  in  the  other. 
And  certainly  to  sucli  kind  of  persons  forgiveness  will 
be  proper;  in  which  kind  I  am  confident  no  man  of 
my  time  hath  exceeded  me ;  for  tliough  whensoever  my 
honor  hath  been  engaged,  no  man  hath  ever  been  more 
forward  to  hazard  his  life,  yet  where  with  my  honor  I 
could  forgive,  I  never  used  revenge,  as  leaving  it 
always  to  Grod,  who,  the  less  I  punish  mine  enemies, 
will  inflict*  so  much  the  more  punishment  on  them ; 
and  to  this  forgiveness  of  others  three  considerations 
have  especially  invited  me:  — 

1.  That  he  that  cannot  forgive  others  breaks  the 
bridge  over  which  he  must  pass  himself,  for  every  man 
had  need  to  be  forgiven. 

2.  That  when  a  man  wants  or  comes  short  of  an 
entire  and  accomplished  virtue,  our  defects  may  be  sup- 
plied this  way,  since  the  forgiving  of  evil  deed  in  others 

*  Tills  is  a  very  unohristian  reason  for  pardoning  our  enemies,  and  pan 
1)y  no  means  he  properly  called  forgiveness.  Is  it  forgiveness  to  remit  a 
puiiisliment  on  the  hope  of  its  hcing  iloiihlcd?  One  of  the  most  exeep- 
tioniihle  passages  in  Shakespi  are  is  the  horrid  relleclioii  of  Hamlet,  that 
he  will  not  kill  the  king  at  his  prayers,  lest  he  si  iid  him  to  heaven, —  and 
so  am  I  revenged?  Sueh  sentiments  sl.oiild  always  he  marked  and  con- 
demned, especially  in  anthors  who  certainly  do  not  mean  to  preach  np 
malice  and  revenge.  His  lordship's  other  reasons  are  hetter  fouiuled, 
though  still  selfish.  He  does  not  ajjpear  a  humane  philosopher,  till  he 
owns  that  he  continued  to  forgive,  though  he  found  that  it  encouraged 
new  injuries.  The  beauty  of  virtue  consists  iu  doing  right,  tliough  to 
one's  own  prejudice. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  49 

amonnteth  to  no  loss  thun  virtue  in  us ;  that  therefore 
it  may  not  be  unaptly  called  the  paying  our  debts  with 
another  man's  money. 

3.  That  it  is  tlie  most  necessary  and  proper  work 
of  every  man,  for  though  when  I  do  not  a  just  tiling,  or 
a  charitable,  or  a  wise,  another  man  may  do  it  for  me, 
yet  no  man  can  forgive  my  enemy  but  myself,  and 
these  have  been  the  chief  motives  for  which  I  have 
been  ever  inclined  to  forgiveness ;  whereof  though  I 
have  rarely  found  other  effect  than  that  my  servants, 
tenants,  and  neighbors  have  thereupon  more  frequently 
offended  me,  yet  at  least  I  have  had  within  me  au  in- 
ward jieace  and  conif  jrt  thereby,  since  I  can  truly  say, 
nothing  ever  gave  my  mind  more  ease  than  when  I  had 
forgiven  my  enemies,  which  freed  me  from  many  cares 
and  perturbations,  which  otherwise  would  have  mo- 
lested me. 

And  this  likewise  brings  in  another  rule  concerning 
the  use  of  virtues,  which  is,  that  you  are  not  to  use 
justice  where  mercy  is  most  proper,  as,  on  the  other 
side,  a  foolish  pity  is  not  to  be  preferred  before  that 
which  is  just  and  necessary  for  good  example.  So 
likewise  liberality  is  not  to  be  used  where  i)arsimony 
or  frugality  is  more  requisite  ;  as,  on  the  other  side,  it 
will  be  but  a  sordid  thing  in  a  gentleman  to  spare, 
where  expending  of  money  would  acquire  unto  him 
advantage,  credit,  or  honor ;  and  this  rule  in  general 
ought  to  be  practised,  that  the  virtue  requisite  to  the 
occasion  is  over  to  be  produced,  as  the  most  opportune 
and  necessary.  That  therefore  wisdom  is  the  soul  of 
all  virtues,  giving  them  as  unto  her  members,  life  and 
motion,  and  so  necessary  in  every  action,  that  whoso- 
ever by  the  benefit  of  true  wisdom  makes  use  of  the 
right  virtue,  on  all  emergent  occasions,  I  dare  say  would 


50  THE   LIFE    OF 

never  be  constrainofl  to  have  recourse  to  vice,  wherelty 
it  appears  tliat  every  virtue  is  not  to  be  employed  indif- 
ferently, but  that  only  which  is  proper  for  the  business 
in  question ;  among  wliich  yet  temperance  seems  so 
universally  requisite,  that  some  part  of  it  at  least  will 
be  a  necessary  ingredient  in  all  human  actions,  since 
thei'e  may  be  an  excess  even  in  religious  worship,  at 
those  times  when  other  duties  are  required  at  our  hands. 
,  After  all,  moral  virtues  are  learned  and  directed  to  the 
service  and  gk>ry  of  God,  as  the  jjrincipal  end  and  use 
of  them. 

It  would  be  fit  that  some  time  be  spent  in  learning 
rhetoric  or  oratory,  to  the  intent  that  upon  all  occasions 
you  may  express  yourself  with  eloquence  and  grace ; 
for  as  it  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  have  a  diamond 
unless  it  is  polished  and  cut  out  into  its  due  angles, 
and  a  foil  be  set  underneath,  whereby  it  may  the 
better  transmit  and  vibrate  its  native  lustre  and  rays, 
so  it  will  not  be  sufficient  for  a  man  to  have  a  great 
understanding  in  all  matters,  unless  the  said  under- 
standing be  not  only  polished  and  clear,  but  underset 
and  holpen  a  little  with  those  figures,  tropes,  and 
colors  which  rhetoric  affords,  where  there  is  use  of 
persuasion.  I  can  by  no  means  yet  commend  an  af- 
fected eloquence,  there  beiug  nothing  so  pedantic,  or 
indeed  that  would  give  more  suspicion  that  the  truth 
is  not  intended,  than  to  use  overmuch  the  common 
forms  prescribed  in  schools.  It  is  well  said  by  them, 
that  there  are  tAvo  parts  of  eloquence  necessary  and 
reconnnendal)le;  one  is,  to  speak,  hard  things  plainly, 
so  that  when  a  knotty  or  intricate  business,  having  no 
method  or  coherence  in  its  parts,  shall  be  presented,  it 
will  be  a  singular  part  of  oratory  t(j  take  those  parts 
asunder,  set  them  together  a])tly,  and  so  exhibit  them 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  51 

to  the  understanding.  And  tliis  ])art  of  rhetoric  I  much 
commend  to  everybody,  there  being  no  true  use  of 
speech  but  to  make  things  ck'ar,  persjiicuous,  and  man- 
ifest, which  otherwise  would  be  perplexed,  doubtful, 
and  obscure. 

The  other  part  of  (tratory  is  to  speak  common 
things  ingeniously  or  wittily,  there  being  no  little  vigor 
and  force  added  to  words,  when  they  are  delivered  in  a 
neat  and  fine  way,  and  somewhat  out  of  the  ordinary 
road,  common  and  dull  language  relishing  more  of  the 
clown  than  the  gentleman.  But  herein  also  affecta- 
tion must  be  avoided,  it  being  better  for  a  man  by  a 
native  and  clear  eloquence  to  express  himself,  than  by 
those  words  which  may  smell  either  of  the  lamp  or  ink- 
horn  ;  so  that  in  general  one  nray  observe  tliat  men 
who  fortify  and  uphold  their  speeches  with  strong  and 
evident  reasons,  have  ever  operated  more  on  the  minds 
of  the  auditors  than  those  who  have  made  rhetorical 
excursions. 

It  will  be  better  for  a  man  who  is  doubtful  of  his 
pay  to  take  an  ordinary  silver  piece  with  its  due  stamp 
upon  it,  than  an  extraordinary  gilded  piece  which 
may  perchance  contain  a  baser  metal  under  it ;  and 
prefer  a  well-favored,  wholesome  woman,  though  with 
a  tawny  complexion,  before  a  besmeared  and  painted 
face. 

It  is  a  general  note,  that  a  man's  wit  is  best  shown 
in  his  answer,  and  his  valor  in  his  defence,  that  there- 
fore as  men  learn  in  fencing  how  to  ward  all  blows  and 
thrusts  which  are  or  can  be  made  against  them,  so  it 
will  be  fitting  to  debate  and  resolve  beforehand  what 
you  are  to  say  or  do  ujion  any  affront  given  you,  lest 
otherwise  you  should  be  surprised.  Aristotle  hath 
written  a  book  of  rhetoric,  a  work  in  my  opinion  not 


52  THE   LIFE   OF 

inferior  to  liis  best  pieces,  whom  therefore  with  Cicero 
"  de  Oratore,"  as  also  Quintilian,  you  may  read  for 
your  instruction  how  to  speak,  neither  of  which  two 
yet  I  can  think  so  exact  in  their  orations  but  that  a 
middle  style  will  be  of  more  etlicacy  ;  Cicero  in  my 
(jpiuion  being  too  long  and  tedious,  and  Quintilian  too 
short  and  ct)ncise. 

Having  thus  by  moral  philosophy  enalded  yourself 
to  all  that  wisdom  and  goodness  which  is  requisite  to 
direct  you  in  all  your  particular  actions,  it  will  be  fit 
now  to  think  how  you  are  to  behave  yourself  as  a  pub- 
lic person,  or  member  of  the  commonwealth  and  king- 
dom wlierein  you  live,  as  also  to  look  into  those 
principles  and  grounds  upon  which  government  is 
framed,  it  being  manifest  in  nature  that  the  wise  doth 
easily  govern  the  foolish,  and  the  strong  master  the 
weak ;  so  that  he  that  could  attain  most  wisdom  and 
power  would  quickly  rule  his  fellows:  for  proof 
whereof,  one  may  observe  that  a  king  is  sick  during 
that  time  tlie  physicians  govern  him,  and  in  day  of 
battle  an  expert  general  appoints  the  king  a  jdace  in 
which  he  shall  stand,  which  was  anciently  the  ofiice  of 
the  constables  de  France.  In  law,  also,  the  judge  is  in 
a  sort  sni)erior  to  his  king  as  long  as  he  judgeth 
betwixt  him  and  his  peojde.  In  divinity,  also,  he  to 
wliom  the  king  connnits  the  charge  of  his  conscience 
is  his  superior  in  that  particular.  All  which  instances 
may  sufficiently  prove  that  in  many  cases  the  wiser 
governs  or  commands  one  less  wise  than  himself,  un- 
less a  wilful  obstinacy  be  hiterposed ;  in  which  case 
recourse  must  be  had  to  strength  where  obedience  is 
necessary. 

The  exercises  I  chiefly  used,  and  most  recommend 
to  my  posterity,  were  riding  the  great  horse,  and  fen- 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT,  5 


o 


chig,  in  which  arts  I  had  excellent  masters,  Encclish, 
French,  anil  Italian;  as  fur  dancing,  I  could  never  find 
leisure  enough  to  learn  it,  as  employing  my  mind  al- 
ways in  acquiring  of  some  art  or  science  more  useful ; 
howbeit  I  shall  wish  these  three  exercises  learned  in 
this  order :  — 

That  dancing  may  be  learned  first,  as  that  which 
doth  fashion  the  l)ody,  gives  one  a  good  presence  in, 
and  address  to  all  companies,  since  it  disposeth  the 
limbs  to  a  kind  of  s(iuplesse  (as  the  Frenchmen  call  it) 
and  agility,  insomuch  as  they  seem  to  have  the  use 
of  their  legs,  arms,  and  bodies  more  than  any  others, 
who,  standing  stiff  and  stark  in  their  jxistures,  seem  as 
if  they  were  taken  in  their  joints,  or  had  not  the  per- 
fect use  of  their  members.  I  speak  not  this  yet  as  if  I 
would  have  a  youth  never  stand  still  in  company,  but 
only  that  when  he  hath  occasion  to  stir,  his  motions 
may  be  comely  and  graceful ;  that  he  may  learn  to 
know  how  to  come  in  and  go  out  of  a  room  where  com- 
pany is;  how  to  make  courtesies  handsomely,  acc(jrd- 
ing  to  the  several  degrees  of  persons  he  shall  encounter ; 
how  to  put  off  and  hold  his  hat,  all  which,  and  many 
other  things  which  become  men,  are  taught  by  the  more 
accurate  dancing-masters  in  France. 

The  next  exercise  a  young  man  should  learn,  but  not 
before  he  is  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age,  is  fencing ; 
for  the  attaining  of  which  the  Frenchman's  rule  is  ex- 
cellent, bon  pted  hon  ceil,  by  which  to  teach  men  how 
far  they  may  stretch  out  their  feet  -v^'hen  they  M'ould 
make  a  thrust  against  their  enemy,  lest  either  should 
overstride  themselves,  or,  not  striding  far  enough,  fail 
to  bring  the  point  of  their  weapon  home  :  the  second 
])art  of  his  direction  adviseth  the  scholar  to  keep  a 
fixed  eye  upon  the  point  of  his  enemy's  sword^  to  the 


54  THE   LIFE   OF 

intent  he  may  both  put  hy  or  ward  the  blo\A's  and 
thrusts  made  again.st  hhn,  and  together  dh-ect  the  point 
of  his  svA'ord  upon  some  part  of  his  enemy  tliat  lieth 
naked  and  open  to  him. 

The  good  fencing-masters,  in  France  especially,  when 
they  present  a  foil  or  tleuret  to  tlieir  sch(dars,  tell  him 
it  liath  two  parts,  one  of  which  he  calleth  the  fort  or 
strong,  and  the  other  the  foible  or  \veak ;  with  the 
fort  or  strong,  whii-h  extends  from  the  part  of  the  hilt 
next  tlie  sword,  about  a  third  part  of  the  whole  length, 
thereof  he  teacheth  his  scholars  to  defend  themselves, 
and  put  by  anil  ward  the  thrusts  and  blows  of  his 
enemy,  and  with  the  other  two-third  parts  to  strike  or 
tlirust  as  he  shall  see  occasion ;  which  rule  also  teacheth 
how  to  strike  or  thrust  high  or  low  as  his  enemy  doth, 
and  briefly  to  talvo  his  measure  and  time  upon  his  ad- 
versary's motions,  whereby  he  may  both  defend  him- 
self or  offend  his  adversary,  of  which  I  have  had  much 
experiment  and  use  both  in  the  tleuret  or  foil,  as  also 
when  I  fought  in  good  earnest  with  many  persons  at 
one  and  the  same  time,  as  will  appear  in  the  sequel 
of  my  life.  And,  indeed,  I  think  I  shall  not  speak 
vaingloriously  of  myself  if  I  say  that  no  man  under- 
stood the  use  of  his  weapon  better  than  I  did;  or  hath 
more  dexterously  prevailed  himself  thereof  on  all  occa- 
sions ;  since  I  found  no  man  could  be  hurt  but  through 
some  error  in  fencing. 

I  spent  much  time  also  in  learning  to  ride  the  great 
horse,  that  creature  being  made  above  all  others  for  ilw 
service  of  man,  as  giving  his  rider  all  tlie  advantages 
of  which  he  is  capable,  AA'hile  sometimes  he  gives  hitn 
strength,  sometimes  agility  or  motion  for  the  overcom- 
ing of  his  enemy,  in  so  much  that  a  good  ri;lcr  on  a 
gfiod  horse  is  as  much  above  himself  and  others  as 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT.  55 

this  world  can  make  him ;  the  rule  for  graceful  riding 
is,  that  a  man  hold  his  eyes  always  betwaxt  the  two 
ears,  and  his  rod  over  the  left  ear  of  his  horse,  which 
he  is  to  use  for  turning  him  every  way,  helping  himself 
with  his  left  foot,  and  rod  upon  the  left  part  of  his  neck, 
to  make  his  horse  turn  on  the  right  hand,  and  with  the 
right  foot  and  help  of  his  rod  also  (if  needs  be)  to  turn 
him  on  the  left  hand,  but  this  is  to  be  used  rather  wlien 
one  would  make  a  horse  understand  these  motions  tlian 
when  he  is  a  ready  horse,  the  foot  and  stirrup  alone 
ap})lied  to  either  shoulder  being  sufficient,  with  the 
help  of  the  reins,  to  make  him  turn  any  way :  that  a 
rider  thus  may  have  the  use  of  his  SM^ord,  or  when  it 
is  requisite  only  to  make  a  horse  go  sidewards,  it  will 
be  enough  to  keep  the  reins  equal  in  his  hand,  and 
with  the  flat  of  his  leg  and  foot  together,  and  a  touch 
iqion  the  shoulder  of  the  horse  with  the  stirrup,  to 
make  him  go  sideward  either  way  without  either  ad- 
vancing forward  or  returning  backwards. 

The  most  useful  aer,  as  the  Frenchmen  term  it,  is 
ten'iterr ;  the  courbettes,  cabrioes,  f)r  un  pas  et  un 
sault,  being  fitter  f^ir  horses  of  parade  and  triunqdi  tlian 
for  soldiers,  yet  I  cannot  deny  but  a  demi volte  with 
courbettes,  so  that  they  be  not  too  high,  may  be  useful 
in  a  fight  or  melee,  for,  as  Labroue  hath  it  in  his  book 
of  horsemanshij).  Monsieur  de  Montmorency,  having  ;i 
horse  that  was  excellent  in  performing  the  demivolte, 
did  witli  his  sword  strilje  down  two  adversaries  from 
their  horses  in  a  tourney,  where  divers  of  the  prime 
gallants  of  France  did  meet ;  for  taking  his  time  wlien 
the  horse  was  in  the  height  of  his  courbette,  and  dis- 
charging a  blow,  then  his  sword  fell  witli  sucli  weiglit 
and  force  ujion  the  two  cavaliers  (»ne  after  another,  that 
he  struck  them  from  their  liorses  to  the  gnumd. 


56  THE   LIFE   OF 

The  manner  of  fighting  a  duel  on  horseback  I  was 
taught  thus  ;  we  had  each  of  us  a  reasonable  stiff  riding 
rod  in  our  hands  ab(nit  the  length  of  a  sword,  and  so 
rode  one  against  the  other,  he  as  the  more  expert  sat  still 
to  pass  me,  and  tlien  to  get  behind  me,  and  after  to 
turn  with  his  right  hand  upon  my  left  side  with  his 
rod,  that  so  he  might  hit  me  with  the  point  thereof  in 
the  body,  and  he  that  can  do  this  handsomely  is  sure 
to  overcome  his  adversary,  it  being  impossible  to  bring 
his  sword  about  enougli  to  defend  himself  or  offend  the 
assailant;  and  to  get  this  advantage,  which  they  call,  in 
French,  gagner  la  crouppe,  nothing  is  so  useful  as  to 
make  a  horse  go  only  sideward  until  liis  adversary  bo 
past  him,  since  lie  will  by  this  means  avoid  his  adver- 
sary's blow  or  thrust,  and  on  a  sudden  get  on  the  lel"t 
hand  of  his  adversary  in  the  manner  I  formerly  related  : 
but  of  this  art  let  Labroue  and  l^luvinel*  be  read,  who 
are  excellent  masters  in  tliat  art,  of  whom  I  must  con- 
fess I  learned  much,  although  to  speak  ingenuously  my 
breaking  two  or  three  colts,  and  teaching  them  after- 
wards those  aers  of  which  they  were  most  capable, 
taught  me  both  what  I  was  to  do,  and  made  me  see 
mine  errors,  more  than  all  tlndr  precepts. 

To  make  a  horse  fit  for  the  wars  and  embolden  him 
against  all  terrors,  these  inventions  are  useful :  to  beat 
a  drum  out  of  tlie  stable  first,  and  then  give  him  his 
provender,  then  beat  a  drum  in  the  stable  by  degrees, 
and  then  give  him  his  provender  upon  the  drum  :  when 

*  Antoine  de  Pluvinel,  principal  Ecuyci-  dc  Louis  treize,  Roi  de  Fiance. 
He  puldislied  a  very  fine  folio,  in  Frencli  and  Dutch,  entitled  "  Instruc- 
tion du  Roi  en  I'exercicc  de  nionter  a,  cheval,"  Paris,  1619.  It  consists  of 
dialogues  between  the  young  king,  the  Puc  de  Bcllcgarde,  and  himself  ; 
and  is  adorned  with  a  great  numl)er  of  l)cautiful  cuts  by  Crispin  Pass,  ex- 
hibiting the  wliole  system  of  the  manege,  and  with  many  portraits  of  the 
great  and  remarkable  men  of  that  court. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  57 

he  is  acquainted  herewith  sufficiently,  you  must  shoot 
otf  a  pistol  out  of  tlie  stable,  before  lie  hath  his  proven- 
der ;  then  you  may  slioot  off  a  pistol  in  the  stable,  and 
so  by  degrees  bring  it  as  near  to  him  as  you  can,  till  he 
be  acquainted  with  the  pistol,  likewise  remembering 
still  after  every  shot  to  give  him  more  provender ;  you 
must  also  cause  his  gi'oom  to  put  on  bright  armor,  and 
so  to  rub  his  heels  and  dress  him  :  you  must  also  pre- 
sent a  sword  bef  tre  him  in  tlie  said  armor,  and  when 
you  have  done,  give  liim  still  some  more  provender: 
lastly,  his  rider  must  bring  his  horse  forth  into  the  open 
field,  where  a  bright  armor  must  be  fastened  upon  a 
stake  and  set  forth  in  the  likeness  of  an  armed  man  as 
much  as  possible,  whicli  being  done,  the  rider  must  put 
his  liorse  on  until  he  make  liim  not  only  approach 
the  said  image,  Imt  tlirow  it  down,  which  being  done, 
you  must  be  sure  to  give  him  some  provender,  that  he 
may  be  encouragcnl  to  do  the  like  against  an  adversary 
in  battle.  It  will  be  got>d  also  that  two  men  do  hold 
up  a  cloak  betwixt  tlieni  in  a  field,  and  then  the  I'ider 
to  put  the  horse  to  it  until  he  leap  over,  which  cloak 
also  they  may  raise  as  they  see  occasion,  when  the  horse 
is  able  to  leap  so  high.  You  shall  do  well  also  to  use 
your  horse  ti)  swimming,  which  you  may  do  either  by 
trailing  him  after  you  at  the  tail  of  a  boat,  in  a  good 
river,  holdijig  liim  by  the  head  at  the  length  of  the 
bridle,  or  by  putting  a  good  swimmer  in  a  linen  waist- 
coat and  breeches  upon  him. 

It  will  be  fit  for  a  gentleman  also  to  learn  to  swim, 
unless  he  be  given  to  cramps  and  convulsions ;  how- 
beit,  I  must  confess  in  my  own  particular  that  I  cannot 
swim,  for  as  I  was  once  in  danger  of  drowning  by 
learning  to  swim,  my  mother  upon  lier  blessing  charged 
me  never  to  learn  swimming,  telling  me  farther  tliat 


58  THE   LIFE    OF 

she  had  heard  nf  more  drowned  than  saved  hy  it,  which 
reason  though  it  did  not  prevail  with  nie,  yet  her  com- 
mandment did.  It  will  be  good  also  for  a  gentleman 
to  learn  to  leap,  wrestle,  and  vault  on  horseback,  they 
being  all  of  them  qualities  of  great  use.  I  do  much 
approve  likewise  of  shooting  in  the  long  bow,  as  being 
both  a  healthful  exercise,  and  useful  for  the  wars,  not- 
withstanding all  that  our  firemen  speak  against  it :  for, 
bring  a  hundred  arcliers  against  so  many  musketeers, 
I  say,  if  the  archer  comes  within  his  distance,  he  will 
not  only  make  two  shoots  but  two  hits  for  one. 

The  exercises  I  do  not  approve  of,  are  riding  of  i-un- 
ning  horses,  there  being  much  cheating  in  that  kind  ; 
neither  do  I  see  why  a  brave  man  should  delight  in  a 
creature  whose  chief  use  is  to  hclji  him  to  run  away. 
I  do  not  much  like  of  hunting  horses,  that  exercise 
taking  up  more  time  than  can  be  spared  from  a  man 
studious  to  get  knowledge  :  it  is  enough  therefore  to 
know  the  sport,  if  there  be  any  in  it,  without  making 
it  an  ordinary  practice  :  and  indeed  of  the  two,  hawking 
is  the  better,  because  less  time  is  spent  in  it :  and  upon 
these  terms  also  I  can  allow  a  little  bowling,  so  that 
the  company  be  choice  and  gooJ. 

The  exercises  I  wholly  condemn  are  dicing  and 
carding,  especially  if  you  play  for  any  great  sum  of 
money,  or  spend  any  time  in  them,  or  use  to  come  to 
meetings  or  dicinej-houses,  where  cheaters  meet  and 
cozen  young  gentlemen  of  all  their  money.  I  could 
say  much  more  concerning  all  these  points  of  education, 
and  particularly  concerning  the  discreet  civility  AA'hich 
is  to  be  observed  in  communication  either  with  friends 
or  strangers,  but  this  work  would  grow  too  big,  and 
that  many  precepts  conducing  thereunto  may  be  had  in 
Guazzo  ^'  de  la  Civile  Conversation"  and  Galeteus  ''dc 
Moribus." 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  59 

It  would  also  deserve  a  particular  lecture,  or  re- 
clierche,  how  one  ought  to  behave  himself  witli  chil- 
dren, servants,  tenants,  and  neighbors;  and  I  am  confi- 
dent that  precepts  in  this  point  will  be  found  more  useful 
to  young  gentlemen  than  all  the  subtilities  of  schools  : 
I  confess  I  have  collected  many  things  to  this  purpose, 
which  I  forbear  to  set  down  here,  because  (if  God  grant 
me  life  and  health)  I  intend  to  make  a  little  treatise 
concerning  these  points  ;  I  shall  return  now  to  the 
narrative  of  mine  own  history. 

When  I  had  attained  the  age  betwixt  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen years,  my  mother,  together  with  myself  and  wife,  re- 
moved up  to  London,  where  we  took  house  and  kept  a 
greater  family  than  became  either  my  mother's  widow's 
estate  or  such  young  beginners  as  we  were,  especially 
since  six  brothers  and  three  sisters  were  to  be  provided 
for,  my  father  ha\'ing  made  either  no  will,  or  such  an  im- 
perfect one  that  it  was  not  proved.  My  mother,  though 
she  had  all  my  father's  leases  and  goods,  which  were 
of  great  value,  yet  she  desired  me  to  undertake  that 
burden  of  providing  for  my  brothers  and  sisters,  which, 
to  gratify  my  mother  as  well  as  those  so  near  me,  I  was 
voluntarily  content  to  provide  thus  far  as  to  give  my 
six  brothers  thirty  pounds  apiece  yearly  during  their 
lives,  and  my  three  sisters  one  thousand  pounds  apiece, 
which  portions  married  them  to  those  I  have  above 
mentioned  ;  my  younger  sister  indeed  might  have  been 
married  to  a  far  greater  fortune,  had  not  the  over- 
thwartness  of  some  neighbors  interrupted  it. 

About  the  year  of  our  Lord  1600  I  came  to  London, 
shortly  after  which  the  attempt  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  re- 
lated in  our  history,  followed,  whicli  I  had  rather  were 
seen  in  the  writers  of  that  argument  than  here.  Not  long 
after  this,  curiosity  rather  than  ambition  bmuglit  mc 


CO  THE   LIFE   OF 

to  court ;  and  as  it  was  the  manner  of  those  times  for 
all  men  to  kneel  down  before  the  great  queen  Elizabeth, 
who  then  reigned,  I  was  likewise  upim  my  knees  in 
the  presence-chamber  when  she  passed  by  to  the  chapel 
at  Whitehall.  As  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  stopped, 
and,  swearing  her  usual  oath,  demanded,  ''Who 
is  this?"  Everybody  there  present  looked  upon  me, 
but  no  man  knew  me,  till  Sir  James  Croft,  a  pensioner, 
finding  the  queen  stayed,  returned  back  and  told  who 
I  ^vas,  and  that  I  had  married  Sir  William  Herbert  of 
St.  Gillian's  daughter :  the  queen  hereupon  looked  at- 
tentively upon  me,  and,  swearing  again  her  ordinary 
oath,  said,  "It  is  a  pity  he  was  married  so  young,"  and 
thereupon  gave  her  hand  to  kiss  twice,  both  times 
gently  clapping  me  on  the  cheek.  I  remember  little 
more  of  myself,  but  that  from  that  time  until  King 
James's  coming  to  the  crown,  I  had  a  son  which  died 
shortly  afterwards,  and  that  I  intended  my  studies 
seriously,  the  more  I  learnt  out  of  my  books  adding 
still  a  desire  to  know  more. 

King  James  being  now  acknowledged  king,  and 
coming  towards  London,  I  thought  fit  to  meet  his 
majesty  at  Burley  near  Stanford ;  shortly  after  I  was 
made  Knight  of  the  Bath,  with  the  usual  ceremonies 
belonging  to  that  ancient  order.  I  could  tell  how 
much  niy  person  was  commended  by  the  lords  and 
ladies  that  came  to  see  the  solemnity  tlien  used,  but 
I  shall  fiatter  myself  too  much  if  I  believed  it. 

I  must  not  forget  yet  the  ancient  custom,  being  that 
some  principal  person  was  to  put  on  the  right  spur  of 
those  the  king  had  appointed  to  receive  that  dignity ; 
the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  seeing  my  esquire  there  with 
my  spur  in  his  hand,  voluntarily  came  to  me  and  said, 
"  Cousin,  I  believe  you  will  be  a  good  knight,  and 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  61 

tlierefore  I  will  put  on  your  spur";  whereupon,  after 
my  most  humble  thanks  for  so  ^reat  a  favor/ I  liehl  up 
my  leg  against  the  wall,  and  he  put  on  my  spur. 

There  is  another  custom  likewise,  that  the  knights 
the  first  day  wear  the  gown  of  some  religious  order, 
and  the  night  following  to  be  bathed;  after  which 
they  take  an  oath  never  to  sit  in  place  wliere  injus- 
tice should  bo  done  but  they  shall  right  it  to  the 
uttermost  of  their  power,  and  particularly  ladies  and 
gentlewomen  that  shall  be  wronged  in  their  honor,  if 
they  demand  assistance  ;  and  many  other  points,  not 
unlike  the  romances  of  Knight  Errant. 

The  second  day  to  wear  rol)es  of  crimson  taffeta  (in 
wliich  habit  I  am  painted  in  my  study),  and  so  to  ride 
from  St.  James's  to  Whitehall  with  our  esquires  before 
us,  and  the  third  day  to  wear  a  gown  of  purple  satin, 
upon  the  left  sleeve  whereof  is  fastened  certain  strings 
weaved  of  white  silk  and  gidd  tied  in  a  knot,  and 
tassels  to  it  of  the  same ;  which  all  the  knights  are 
ol)liged  to  wear  until  they  have  done  something  fii- 
mous  in  arms,  or  till  some  lady  of  honor  take  it  off, 
and  fasten  it  on  her  sleeve,  saying,  '■'■  I  \\411  answer  he 
shall  prove  a  good  knight."  I  had  not  long  worn  this 
string,  but  a  princii)al  lady  of  the  court,  and  certainly 
in  most  men's  0})inion  the  handsomest,  took  mine 
off,  and  said  she  would  pledge  her  honor  for  mine. 

Shortly  after  this  I  intended  to  go  with  Charles  Earl 
of  Nottingham,  the  lord  admiral,  who  went  to  Spain  to 
take  the  king's  oath  for  confirmation  of  the  articles  of 
peace  betwixt  the  two  crowns  ;  howbeit  by  the  industry 
of  some  near  me,  who  desired  to  stay  me  at  home,  I 
was  hindered,  and  instead  of  going  that  voyage,  was 
made  sheriff  of  Mftutgomeryshire,  concerning  which  I 
will  say  no  more,  but  that  I  bestowed  the  place  of 


62  THE   LIFE   OF 

uiidor  sheriff,  as  also  otlior  places  in  my  ijifts,  freely, 
^^•itll(•ut  either  taking  gift  or  reward ;  which  custom 
also  I  have  ohserved  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
my  life,  insomuch  that  when  I  was  amhassador  in 
France  and  might  have  had  great  presents,  which 
former  ambassadors  accepted,  for  doing  la\\-ful  courte- 
sies to  merchants  and  others,  yet  no  gratuity,  upon 
what  terms  soever,  could  ever  be  fastened  up<jn  me. 

This  public  duty  did  not  hinder  me  yet  to  follow  my 
beloved  studies  in  a  country  life  for  the  most  part ; 
though  sometimes  also  I  resorted  to  court,  without  yet 
that  I  had  any  ambition  there,  and  much  less  was 
tainted  with  those  corrupt  delights  incident  to  the 
times. 

About  the  year  1608  my  two  daughters,  called  Bea- 
trice and  Florence,  who  lived  not  yet  long  after,  and  one 
son  Richard  being  born,  and  come  to  so  much  maturity, 
that  though  in  their  mere  childhood  they  gave  no  little 
hopes  of  themselves  for  the  future  time,  I  called  them 
all  before  my  wife,  demanding  how  she  Mked  them,  to 
which  she  answering,  "Well,"  I  demanded  then  whether 
she  was  willing  to  do  so  much  for  them  as  I  would  ; 
whereupon  she,  replying,  demanded  what  I  meant  by 
that.  I  told  her  that  for  my  part  I  was  but  young  for  a 
man,  and  she  not  old  for  a  woman;  that  our  lives  w^ere 
in  the  hands  of  God  ;  that  if  he  pleased  to  call  either  of 
us  away,  that  party  Avhich  remained  might  marry  again, 
and  liave  children  by  some  other,  to  which  our  estates 
might  be  disposed  ;  fi  )r  preventing  whereof  I  thought 
fit  to  motion  to  her  that  if  she  v^'ould  assure  upon  the 
son  any  quantity  of  lands  from  £300  a  year  to  £  1000  I 
would  do  the  like  :  but  my  wife,  not  apjiroving  hereof, 
answering  in  these  express  words,  that  she  would  not 
draw  the  cradle  upon  her  head;  whereupon  I  desiring 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  G 


o 


her  to  advise  bettor  upon  the  hiisiness,  and  to  take 
some  few  days'  respite  for  that  purpose,  she  seemed'to 
depart  from  me  not  very  well  contented.  About  a 
week  or  ten  days  afterwards,  I  demanded  again  what 
she  thought  concerning  tlie  motion  I  made,  to  which 
yet  she  said  no  more,  but  that  slie  thought  she  had  al- 
ready answered  me  sufficiently  t(j  the  point.  I  tidd  her 
then  that  I  should  make  another  motion  to  her,  which 
was  that  in  regard  I  was  too  young  to  go  beyt>nd  sea 
before  I  married  her,  she  now  would  give  me  leave  for  a 
while  to  see  foreign  countries;  howbeit,  if  she  would 
assure  her  lauds  as  I  would  mine,  in  the  manner  above- 
mentioned,  I  would  never  depart  from  her.  She  an- 
swered that  I  knew  her  mind  before  concerning  that 
point,  yet  that  she  would  be  sorry  I  went  beyond  sea ; 
nevertheless,  if  I  would  needs  go,  she  could  not  helji  it. 
This,  whether  a  license  taken  or  given,  served  my 
turn  to  prepare  without  delay  fur  a  journey  beyond  sea, 
that  so  I  might  satisfy  that  curiosity  I  long  since  had 
to  see  fDreign  countries;  so,  that  I  might  leave  my  wife 
so  little  discontented  as  I  could,  I  left  her  not  only  ]>os- 
terity  to  renew  the  ftimily  t)f  the  Herberts  of  St.  Gil- 
lian's, accordhig  to  her  fither's  desire  to  inherit  his 
lands,  but  the  rents  of  all  the  lands  she  brought  with 
her,  reserving  mine  own,  partly  to  pay  my  brothers' 
and  sisters'  portions,  and  defraying  my  charges  abroad. 
Upon  which  terms,  though  I  VA'as  sorry  to  leave  my 
wife,  I  thought  it  no  such  unjust  ambition  to  attain  the 
knowledge  of  foreign  countries,  especially  since  I  had 
in  great  part  already  attained  the  languages,  and  that 
I  intended  not  to  spend  any  long  time  out  of  my 
country. 

And  now  coming  to  court,  I  obtained  a  license  to  go 
beyond  sea,   taking  with  me  tor  my   companion   ^Ir. 


64  THE   LIFE   OF 

Aureliaii  To-WTiseiifl,  a  gentleman  that  spoke  the  lan- 
guages of  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  in  great  perfec- 
tion, and  a  man  to  wait  in  my  chamber  who  spoke 
French,  two  lackeys,  and  three  horses.  Coming  thus  to 
Dover,  and  passing  the  seas  thence  to  Calais,  I  journeyed 
without  any  memorable  adventure,  till  I  came  to  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  in  Paris,  where  Sir  George  Carew, 
then  ambassador  for  the  king,  lived.  I  was  kindly  re- 
ceived byhim,  and  often  invited  to  his  table.  Next  to  his 
house  dwelt  the  Duke  of  Ventadour,  wdio  had  married  a 
daughter  of  Monsieur  de  Montmorency,  Grand  Con- 
stable de  France ;  many  visits  being  exchanged  be- 
tween that  duchess  and  the  lady  of  our  anibassador,  it 
pleased  the  duchess  to  invite  me  to  her  father's  house, 
at  the  castle  of  Merlf)U,  being  about  twenty-four  miles 
from  Paris  ;  and  here  I  found  much  welcome  from  that 
brave  old  general,*  who,  being  informed  of  my  name, 
said  he  knew  well  of  wliat  family  I  was,  telling  the 
first  notice  he  had  of  the  Herberts  was  at  the  siege  of 
St.  Quintence,  where  my  grandfather,  with  a  command 
of  foot  under  William  Earl  of  Pembroke,  was.  Pass- 
ing two  or  three  days  here,  it  happened  one  evening 
that  a  daughter  of  the  duchess,  of  about  ten  or  eleven 
years  of  age,  going  one  evening  fi-om  the  castle  to  walk 
in  the  meadows,  myself  with  divers  French  gentlemen 

*  Henry  de  Montmorency,  second  son  of  the  Great  Constable  Anne  de 
Mortiiiorency  wlio  was  killed  at  tlie  battle  of  St.  Denis,  15G7,  and 
brotlier  of  Duke  Francis,  another  renowned  warrior  and  statesman. 
Henry  was  no  less  disting\iished  m  Iwtli  capacities,  and  gained  great 
glory  at  the  battles  of  Dreux  and  St.  Denis.  lie  was  made  constable  by 
Henry  the  loiirth,  though  he  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and  died  in 
the  lialjit  of  St.  Francis,  1611.  lie  was  father  of  the  g.-dlant  but  unfortu- 
nate Duke  Henry,  the  last  of  tliat  illustrious  and  ancient  line,  wlio  took 
for  their  motto  "  Dieu  ayde  an  premier  Chretien  !  "  The  Duchess  of  Ven- 
tadour, mentioned  above,  was  Margaret,  second  daughter  of  the  consta- 
ble, and  wife  of  Anue  de  Levi,  Duke  of  Ventadour. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  65 

attended  her  and  some  gentlewomen  that  were  with 
her;    this  yonng  hidy  wearing   a  knot  of  ribbon  on 
her  head,  a  French  chevalier  took  it  suddenly  and  fas- 
tened it  to  his  liatband  ;  the   young  hidy  offended  here- 
with demands  her  ribbon,  but  he  refusing  to  restore  it; 
the  yonng  Lady,  addressing  herself  to  me,  said,  ''  Mon- 
sieur, I  pray  get  my  ribbon  from  that  gentleman"; 
hereupon  going  towards  him,  I  courteously,  with  my  hat 
in  my  hand,  desired  him  to  do  me  the  honor  that  I  may 
deliver  the  lady  her  ribbon  or  bouquet  again  ;  but  he 
roughly  answered  me,    "  Do  you  think  I  will  give  it 
you  when  I  have  refused  it  to  her '?  "    I  replied,  "  Nay, 
then,  sir,  I  will  make  you  restore  it  by  force  "  ;  where- 
upon, also  putting  on  my  hat  and  reaching  at  his,  he 
to  save  himself  ran  away,  and  after  a  long  course  in 
the  meadow,  finding  that  I  had  almost  overtook  him, 
he  turned  short,,  and,  running  to  the  young  lady,  was 
about  to  put  the  ribbon  on  her  hand,  when  I,  seizing 
upon  his  arm,  said  to  the  young  lady,  ''  It  was  I  that 
gave  it."     ''Pardon  me,"   quoth   she,  ''it  is  he  that 
gives  it  me."     I  said  then,  "  Madam,  I  will  not  con- 
tradict you,  but  if   he  dare  say  that  I   did   not  con- 
strain him  to  give  it,   I  will  fight  with  him."     The 
French  gentleman  answered  nothing  thereunto  for  the 
presv^nt,  and  so  ccniducted  the  young  lady  again  to  the 
castle.     The  ne.xt  day  I  desired  INIr.  Aurelian  Town- 
send  to  tell  the  French  cavalier  that  either  he  must 
confess  that  I  constrained  him  to  restore  the  ribbon,  or 
fight  with  me ;  but  the  gentleman,  seeing  him  unwill- 
ing to  accept  of   this  challenge,  went  out  from  the 
place,  whereupon  I  following  him,  some  of  the  gen- 
tlemen that  Ixdonged  to  the  constable  taking  notice 
hereof  acquainted  him  therewith,  who,  sending  for  the 
French  cavalier,  checked  him  well  for  his  sauciness 


6G  THE   LIFE   OF 

in  taking  the  ribbon  away  from  his  grandchild,  and  after- 
wards bid  him  depart  liis  house  ;  and  tliis  was  all  that 
I  ever  heard  of  the  gentleman,  with  whom  I  proceeded 
in  that  manner  because  I  thought  myself  obliged 
thereunto  by  the  oath*  taken  M'hen  I  was  made  Knight 
of  the  Bath,  as  I  formerly  related  u})on  this  occasion. 

I  must  remember  also  that  three  other  times  I  engaged 
myself  to  challenge  men  to  fight  with  me  who  I  C(jn- 
ceived  had  injured  ladies  and  gentlewomen.  One  was  in 
defence  of  my  cousin.  Sir  Francis  Newport's  daughter, 
who  was  married  to  John  Barker,  of  Hamou,  whose 
younger  brother  and  heir  sent  him  a  challenge,  which 
to  this  day  he  never  answered,  and  would  have  beaten 
him  afterwards  but  that  I  was  hindered  by  my  uncle, 
Sir  Francis  Newport. 

I  had  another  occasion  to  challenge  one  Captain 
Vaughan,  who  I  conceived  ofiered  some  injury  to  my 
sister,  the  Lady  Jones,  of  Abarmarlas :  I  sent  him  a 
challenge,  which  he  accepted,  the  place  between  us 
being  appointed  beyond  Greenwich,  with  seconds  on 
both  sides;  hereupon  I  coming  to  the  King's  Head  in 
Greenwich,  with  intention  the  next  morning  to  be  in  the 
])lace,  I  found  the  house  beset  with  at  least  a  hundred 
persons,  partly  sent  by  the  lords  of  the  privy  council, 
■\vho  gave  order  to  apjirchend  me  :  I,  hearing  thereof, 
desired  my  servant  to  l»ring  my  horses  as  far  as  he  could 
from  my  lodging,  but  yet  within  sight  of  me ;  which 

*  This  oath  is  one  remnant  of  a  superstitious  and  romantic  age,  which 
an  age  calling  itself  enli;;litcnc(l  still  retains.  The  solemn  servire  at  ihc 
investiture  of  knights,  which  has  not  the  least  connection  with  anything 
holy,  is  a  piece  of  the  same  profane  pageantry.  The  oath  heing  no  longer 
supposed  to  hind,  it  is  strange  mockery  to  invoke  Heaven  on  so  trifling  an 
occasion.  It  would  he  more  strange  if  every  knight,  like  the  too  consci- 
entious Lord  Herbert,  thought  himself  hound  to  cut  a  man's  throat  every 
time  a  miss  lost  her  topknot ! 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  67 

being  d(jne,  and  all  this  company  coming  to  lay  hold 
on  me,  I  and  my  second,  who  was  my  cousin,  James 
Price,  of  Hanaclily,  sallied  out  of  the  doors,  witli  our 
swords  drawn,  and  in  spite  of  that  multitude  made  our 
way  to  our  horses,  where  my  servant,  very  honestly 
opposing  himself  against  those  who  would  have  laid 
hands  upon  us  while  we  got  upon  horsehack,  was  him- 
self laid  hold  on  hy  them  and  evil  treated ;  which  I 
perceiving,  rode  back  again,  and  with  my  sword  in  my 
hand  rescued  him,  and  afterwards  seeing  hiui  get  on 
horseback,  charged  them  to  go  anywhere  rather  than 
to  follow  me ;  riding  afterwards  with  my  second  to  the 
place  appointed,  I  found  nobody  there,  which,  as  I  heard 
afterwards,  happened  because  the  lords  of  the  council, 
taking  notice  of  this  difference,  apprehended  him,  and 
charged  him  in  his  majesty's  name  not  to  fight  M'ith  me, 
since  otherwise  I  believed  he  would  not  have  failed. 

The  third  that  I  questioned  in  this  kind  was  a  Scotch 
gentleman,  who  taking  a  ribbon  in  the  like  manner 
from  Mrs.  Middlemore,  a  maid  of  honor,  as  was  done 
from  the  young  lady  al»ove-meutioned,  in  a  back  room 
behind  Queen  Anne's  lodgings  in  Greenwich,  she  like- 
wise desired  me  to  get  her  the  said  ribbon.  I  repaired, 
as  formerly,  to  him  in  a  courtetius  manner  to  demand  it, 
but  he  refusing,  as  the  French  cavalier  did,  I  caught 
him  by  the  neck,  and  had  almost  thrown  him  down, 
when  company  came  in  and  parted  us.  I  offered  like- 
wise to  fight  with  this  gentleman,  and  came  to  tlie  jdace 
api3t>inted  by  Hyde  Park,  but  this  also  was  interrupted 
by  order  of  the  lords  of  the  council,  and  I  never  heard 
more  of  him. 

These  passages,  though  different  in  time,  I  have 
related  here  together,  both  for  the  similitude  of  argu- 
ment, and  that  it  may  appear  how  strictly  1  held  my- 


68  THE    LIFE   OF 

self  to  my  oath  (.f  kiiiglithood ;  since  for  the  rest  I  can 
truly  say  that  thougli  1  have  hved  iu  the  annies  aud 
courts  of  the  greatest  priuces  in  Christendom,  yet  I 
never  had  a  quarrel  with  a  man  for  mine  own  sake,  so 
that  although  in  mine  o\An  nature  I  was  ever  choleric 
and  hasty,  yet  I  never  withcait  occasion  given  quarrelled 
with  anybody,  and  as  little  did  anybody  attempt  to 
give  me  ofleuce,  as  having  as  clear  a  reputation  for  my 
courage  as  whosoever  of  my  time.  For  my  friends  often 
I  have  hazarded  myself,  but  never  yet  drew  my  sword 
for  my  own  sake  singly,  as  hating  ever  the  doing  of 
-injury,  contenting  myself  only  to  resent  them  when 
they  were  ofl'ered  me.  After  this  digression  I  shall 
return  to  my  history. 

That  brave  constable  in  France  testifying  now  more 
than  formerly  his  regard  of  me,  at  his  dejiarture  from 
Merlou  to  his  fair  house  at  Chantilly,  five  or  six  miles 
distant,  said  he  left  that  castle  to  be  commanded  by 
me,  as  also  his  forests  and  chases  which  were  well 
stored  witli  wild  boar  and  stag,  and  that  I  might  hunt 
them  when  I  pleased ;  he  tt>ld  me  also  that  if  I  would 
learn  to  ride  the  great  horse,  he  had  a  stable  there  of 
som§  fifty^  the  best  and  choicest  as  was  thought  in 
France,  and  that  his  esquire  called  ^lousieur  de  Disan- 
cour,  not  inferior  to  Pluvinel  or  Labroue,  should  teach 
me.  I  did  with  great  thankfulness  accept  his  offer,  as 
being  very  much  addicted  to  the  exercise  of  riding  great 
horses ;  and  as  for  hunting  in  his  forests  I  told  him  I 
should  use  it  sparingly,  as  being  desirous  to  preserve  his 
game ;  he  commanded  also  liis  esquire  to  keep  a  table 
for  me,  and  his  pages  to  attend  me,  the  chief  of  whom 
was  Monsieur  de  Mennon,  who,  proving  to  be  one  of 
the  best  horsemen  in  France,  keeps  now  an  academy 
in  Paris ;  and  here  I  shall  recount  a  little  passage  be- 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBI',RT.  69 

twixt  hiin  anil  liis  inastor,  that  the  iiiclinatiim  of  the 
French  at  that  time  may  a])pear,  there  lieing  scarce  any 
man  thoivght  worth  the  looking  on,  that  had  not  killed 
some  other  in  duel. 

Mennon  desiring  to  marry  a  niece  of  Monsieur  Dis- 
anconr,  who  it  was  thought  should  he  his  heir,  was 
thus  answered  hy  him  :  "  Friend,  it  is  not  time  yet  to 
many,  I  will  tell  you  what  you  must  do;  if  you  will 
be  a  brave  man,  you  must  first  kill  in  single  combat 
two  or  three  men,  then  afterwards  marry,  or  the  world 
will  neither  have  g(tt  nor  lost  hy  you " ;  of  which 
strange  counsel  Disancour  was  no  otherwise  the  author 
than  as  he  had  been  an  example  at  least  of  the  foniier 
part,  it  being  his  fortune  to  have  fought  three  or  four 
brave  duels  in  his  time. 

And  now  as  every  morning  I  mounted  the  great  horse, 
so  in  the  afternoons  I  many  times  went  a  hunting,  the 
manner  ofwliich  was  this:  the  Duke  of  Montmorency 
having  given  order  to  the  tenants  of  the  town  of  Merlou, 
and  some  villages  adjoining,  to  attend  me  when  I  went 
a  hunting,  they  upon  my  summons  usually  repaired  to 
those  woods  where  I  intended  to  find  my  game,  with 
drums  and  muskets,  to  the  number  of  rixty  or  eighty, 
and  sometimes  one  hundred  or  more  persons ;  they  en- 
tering the  wood  on  that  side  with  that  noise,  discharg- 
ing their  pieces  and  bearing  their  said  drums,  we  on  the 
other  side  of  the  said  wood  having  placed  mastiffs  and 
greyhounds  to  the  number  of  twenty  or  thirty,  which 
INIonsieur  de  Montmorency  kept  near  his  castle,  ex- 
pected those  beasts  they  should  f  n-ce  out  of  the  wood  ;  if 
stags  or  wild  boars  came  foitli  we  connnoidy  spared 
them,  pursuing  only  the  wolves,  which  were  there  in 
great  number,  of  which  are  found  two  sorts  :  the  mastilf 
wolf,  thick  and  short,  though  he  could  not  indeed  run 


70  THE   LIFE   OF 

fost,  yet  would  figlit  with  onr  dogs  ;  the  greyhound 
wolf,  Icng  and  SM'ift,  who  many  thnes  escaped  our  best 
dogs,  though  when  he  were  overtaken  easily  killed  hy 
us,  without  making  much  resistance;  of  both  these  soils 
I  killed  divers  with  my  sword,  while  I  stayed  there. 

One  time  also  it  was  my  fortune  to  kill  a  wild  boar 
in  this  manner  :  the  boar  being  roused  from  his  den  tied 
before  our  dogs  for  a  good  space,  but,  finding  them  press 
him  hard,  turned  liis  head  agiiinst  our  dogs,  and  hurt 
three  or  four  of  them  very  dangerously.  I  came  on 
horseback  up  to  him,  and  with  my  sword  thrust  him 
twice  or  thrice  without  entering  his  skin,  the  blade  be- 
ing not  so  stiff  as  it  should  be ;  the  boar  hereupon 
turned  upon  me,  and  much  endangered  my  horse,  Avhich 
I  perceiving  rode  a  little  out  of  the  way,  and,  leaving  my 
horse  with  my  lackey,  returned  with  my  sword  against 
the  boar,  who  by  this  time  had  liuit  more  dogs;  and 
here  happened  a]>retty  kind  of  fight,  f.ir  when  I  thrust 
at  the  boar  sometimes  with  my  sword,  whicli  in  some 
places  I  made  enter,  the  boar  would  run  at  me,  whose 
tuslvs  yet,  by  ste])ping  a  little  out  of  the  way,  I  avoided, 
but  he  then  turning  upon  me,  the  dogs  came  in  and 
drew  him  off,  so  that  he  fell  upon  them,  ■which  I  per- 
ceiving ran  at  the  boar  with  my  sword  again,  which 
made  liim  turn  upon  me,  biit  then  the  dogs  pulled  him 
from  me  again,  while  so  relieving  one  another  by  turns, 
we  killed  the  boar.  At  this  chase  Monsieur  Disancour 
and  Meimon  were  present,  as  also  Mr.  Townsend,  yet 
so  as  they  did  endeavor  rather  to  ^A'ithdraw  me  from 
than  assist  me  in  the  danger.  Of  which  boar  some 
part  being  well  seasoned  and  larded,  I  presented  to  my 
uncle,  Sir  Francis  Newport,  in  Slu'opshire,  and  found 
most  excellent  meat. 

Thus  having  passed  a  whole  summer,  partly  in  these 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  71 

exercises,  and  partly  in  visits  of  the  Duke  of  iMontmo- 
reucy  at  his  fair  liouse  in  Cliantilly,  which  for  its  cxtraor- 
diuary  fairness  and  situation  I  sliall  here  descrihe. 

A  little  river  descending  from  some  higher  grounds 
in  a  country  which  was  almost  all  his  own,  and  falling 
at  last  upon  a  rock  in  the  middle  of  a  valley,  wliich  to 
keep  its  way  forwards,  it  must  on  one  or  other  side 
thereof  have  declined.  Some  of  the  ancestoi-s  of  the 
Montmoreucys,  to  ease  the  river  of  this  labor,  made 
divers  channels  through  this  rock  to  give  it  a  free  pas- 
sage, dividing  the  rock  by  that  means  into  little  islands, 
upon  which  he  built  a  great  strong  castle,  joined  to- 
gether with  bridges,  and  sum])tu()usly  furnished  with 
hangings  of  silk  and  gold,  rare  pictures  and  statues ; 
all  which  buildings,  united  as  I  formerly  told,  were 
encompassed  about  with  water,  which  was  paved  with 
stone  (those  which  were  used  in  the  building  of  the 
house  were  drawn  from  thence).  One  might  see  the 
huge  carps,  pike,  and  trout,  which  were  kept  in  several 
divisiinis,  gliding  along  the  waters  very  easily;  yet 
notliing  in  my  opinion  added  so  much  to  the  glory  of 
this  castle  as  a  forest  adjoining  close  to  it,  and  upon  a 
level  with  the  house ;  for  being  of  a  very  large  extent, 
and  set  thick  both  with  tall  trees  and  underwoods,  the 
whole  forest,  which  was  replenished  with  wild  boar, 
stag,  and  roe-deer,  was  cut  out  into  long  walks  every 
way;  so  that,  although  the  dogs  might  follow  their 
chase  through  the  thick(»ts,  the  huntsmen  might  ride 
along  the  said  walks,  and  meet  or  overtake  their  game 
in  some  one  of  them,  they  being  cut  with  that  art  that 
they  led  to  all  tlie  parts  in  said  forest ;  and  liere  also  I 
have  hunted  the  wild  boar  divers  times,  both  then  and 
afterwards,  when  his  son  the  Duke  of  Montmorency 
succeeded  him  in  the  possession  of  that  incomparable 
place. 


72  THE   LIFE   OF 

And  there  I  cannot  but  rcmombor  the  direction  the 
old  constable  gave  me  to  return  to  his  castle  out  of  this 
admirable  labyrinth,  telling  me  I  should  look  upon 
what  side  the  trees  were  roughest  and  hardest,  which 
being  found  I  might  be  confident  that  part  stood  north- 
ward, which  being  observed  I  might  easily  find  the 
east,  as  being  on  the  right  hand,  and  so  guide  my  way 
home. 

How  much  this  house,  together  with  the  forest,  hath 
been  valued  by  great  princes,  may  appear  by  two  little 
narratives  I  shall  here  insert:  Charles  the  Fifth,  the 
great  emperor,  passing,  in  the  time  of  Francis  the 
First,  from  Spain  into  the  Low  Countries  by  the  way 
of  France,  was  entertained  for  some  time  in  this  house 
by  a  IJuke  of  Montmorency  who  was  likewise  Con- 
stable de  France,  after  lie  had  taken  this  palace  into  his 
ctnisideration  with  the  forests  adjoining,  said  he  would 
willingly  give  one  of  his  jirovinces  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries for  such  a  place,  tlicre  being  as  he  thought  no- 
where such  a  situation. 

Henry  the  Fourtli  also  was  desirous  of  this  house, 
and  offered  to  exchange  any  of  his  houses,  witli  much 
more  lands  than  his  estate  thereabouts  was  worth  ;  to 
which  the  Duke  of  Montmorency  made  this  wary  an- 
swer: "  Sieur,  la  maiscm  est  a  vous,  mais  que  je  sois 
le  concierge";  which  in  English  sounds  thus,  "Sir, 
the  house  is  yours,  but  give  me  leave  to  keep  it  for 
you." 

When  T  had  been  at  Merlou  about  some  eight 
months,  and  attained  as  was  thought  the  knowledge 
of  horsemanship,  I  came  to  the  Duke  of  Montmorency 
at  St.  Ilee,*  and  after  due  thanks  for  his  favors,  took 

*  Sic  orig.  But  it  is  probably  a  bluuder  of  the  transcriber  fur  Chan- 
tilly. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  73 

my  leave  of  hiin  to  go  to  Paris,  whereupon  the  good 
old  prince  embracing  me  and  calling  me  son,  hid  me 
farewell,  assuring  me  nevertheless  he  should  he  glad  of 
any  occasion  hereafter  to  testify  his  love  and  esteem 
for  me,  teUing  me,  farther,  he  should  come  to  Paris 
himself  shortly,  where  he  hoped  to  see  me;  from  hence 
I  returned  to  Merlou,  where  I  gave  Monsieur  Disan- 
cour  such  a  present  as  abundantly  requited  the  charges 
of  my  diet,  and  the  pains  of  his  teaching.     Being  now 
ready  to  set  forth,  a  gentleman  from  the  Duke  of  Mont- 
morency came  to  me,  and  told  me  his  master  would 
not  let  me  go  without  giving  me  a  present,  which  I 
might  keep  as  an  earnest  of  his  affection  ;  whereupon 
also  a  genet,  for  which  the  duke  had  sent  expressly 
into  Spain,  and  which  cost  him   there   five   hundred 
crowns,  as  I  was  told,  was  brought  to  me.    The  great- 
ness of  this  gift,  together  with  other  c(nn-tesies  received, 
did  not  a  little  trouble  me,  as  not  knowing  then  how 
to  recjuite  them.     I  would  have  given  my  horses  I  liad 
there,  which  were  of  great  value,  to  him,  but  that  I 
thought  them  too  mean  a  present,  but  the  duke  also 
suspecting  that  I  meant  to  do  so  prevented  me ;  say- 
ing, that  as  I  loved  him,  I  should  think  upon  no  requi- 
tal, while  I  stayed  in   France,  but  when  I  came  into 
England,  if  I  sent  him  a  mare  that  ambled  naturally, 
I  should  much  gratify  him.     I  ttdd  the  messenger  I 
should  strive  both  that  way  and  every  way  else  to  de- 
clare my  thankfulness,  and  so  dismissed  the  messenger 
with  a  good  reward. 

Coming  nowto  Paris,  through  the  recommendation  of 
the  lord  ambassador,  I  was  received  to  the  house  of 
that  incompanible  scholar  Isaac  Casaubon,  by  whose 
learned  conversation  I  much  benefited  myself,  besides, 
I  did  apply  myself  much  to  know  the  use  of  my  arms, 


74  THE   LIFE   OF 

and  to  ride  the  groat  horso,  playing  on  the  kite,  and 
singing  according  tf)  the  rules  of  the  French  masters. 

Bometimes  also  I  went  to  the  court  of  the  French 
king,  Henry  the  Fourth,  who  upon  information  of  rrie 
in  the  garden  at  the  Tuileries,  received  me  with  all 
courtesy,  embracing  me  in  his  arms,  and  holding  me 
some  while  there.  I  went  sometimes  also  to  the  court 
of  Queen  Margaret  at  the  H(jstel,  called  hy  her  name  ; 
and  herc!  I  saw  many  halls  or  masks,  in  all  which  it 
pleased  that  queen  publicly  to  place  me  next  to  her 
chair,  not  without  the  wonder  of  some,  and  the  envy 
of  another  who  was  wont  to  have  that  favor.  I  shall 
recount  one  accident  which  hajipeued  while  I  was 
there. 

All  things  being  ready  for  the  ball,  and  every  one 
being  in  their  place,  and  I  myself  next  to  the  queen, 
ex])ecting  when  the  dancers  would  come  in,  one 
knocked  at  the  door  somewhat  louder  than  became, 
as  I  thought,  a  very  civil  perscm  ;  when  he  came  in,  I 
remember  there  was  a  sudden  whisper  among  the  la- 
dies, saying,  "  C'est  Monsieur  Balagny,"  or  "  'T  is  Mon- 
sieur Balagny";  whereupon  also  I  saw  the  ladies  and 
gentlewomen  one  after  another  invite  him  to  sit  near 
them,  and  which  is  more,  when  one  lady  had  his  com- 
pany awhile,  another  would  say,  "  You  have  en- 
joyed him  king  enough,  I  must  have  him  now";  at 
which  bold  civility  of  theirs,  though  I  w^ere  astonished, 
yet  it  added  unto  my  wonder,  that  his  person  could 
not  be  thought  at  most  but  ordinary  handsome  ;  his 
hair,  which  was  cut  very  short,  half  gray,  his  doublet 
but  of  sackcloth  cut  to  his  shirt,  and  his  breeches  only 
of  plain  gray  cloth  ;  informing  myself  by  some  stand- 
ers-by  who  lie  M-as,  I  was  t(dd  that  he  was  one  of  the 
gallantest  men  in  tlie  world,  as  having  killed  eight  or 


EDWARD    LORD   HERBERT.  75 

nine  men  in  single  fight,  and  that  for  this  reason  the 
hulies  made  so  much  of  liim,  it  being  the  manner  of 
all  French  women  to  cherish  gallant  men,  as  tliinking 
they  could  not  make  so  much  of  any  else  with  the 
safety  of  their  honor.  This  cavalier,  though  his  head 
was  half  gray,  he  had  not  yet  attained  the  age  of 
thirty  years,  whom  I  have  thought  fit  to  remember 
more  particularly  here  because  of  some  passages  that 
happened  afterwards  betwixt  him  and  me  at  the  siege 
of  Juliers,  as  I  shall  tell  in  its  place. 

Having  passed  thus  all  the  winter,  until  about  the 
latter  end  of  January,  without  any  such  memorable 
accident  as  I  shall  think  fit  to  set  down  particularly,  T 
took  my  leave  of  the  French  king.  Queen  Margaret,  and 
the  nttbles  and  ladies  in  both  courts  ;  at  which  time 
the  Princess  of  Conti  desired  me  to  carry  a  scarf  into 
England,  and  present  it  to  Queen  Anne  on  her  part, 
which  being  accepted,  myself  and  Sir  Thomas  Lucy 
(whose  second  I  had  been  twice  in  France,  against  two 
cavaliers  of  our  nation,  who  yet  were  hindered  to  fight 
with  us  in  the  field,  where  we  attended  tluan),  we  came 
on  our  way  as  far  as  Dieppe,  in  Normandy,  and  tliere  took 
ship  about  the  beginning  of  February,  when  so  furious 
a  storm  arose,  that  with  very  great  danger  we  were  at 
sea  all  night ;  the  master  of  our  ship  lost  both  the  use 
of  his  compass  and  his  reason ;  for  not  knowing  whith- 
er he  was  carried  by  the  tempest,  all  the  Indp  he  liad 
was  by  the  lightnings,  which,  togetlier  with  tliunder, 
very  fre([uently.tliat  night  terrified  him,  yet  gave  the 
advantage  sometimes  to  discover  whetlKU-  we  were  u]ion 
our  coast,  to  which  he  tliouglit  by  the  course  of  his 
glasses  we  were  n(>ar  approaclied ;  and  now  towards 
day  we  found  oiu'selves,  by  great  providence  of  Clod, 
within  view  of  Dover,  to  wliich  the  master  of  our  ship 


7G  THE   LIFE   OF 

did  make.  The  men  of  Dover  rising  by  times  in  the 
morning  to  see  whether  any  ship  were  coming  towards 
thein,  were  in  great  numbers  upon  the  shore,  as  be- 
lieving the  tempest,  which  had  thrown  down  barns  and 
trees  near  tlie  town,  might  give  them  the  benefit  of 
some  wreck,  if  perchance  any  ship  were  driven  thither- 
wards :  we  coming  thus  in  extreme  danger  straight 
upon  the  pier  of  Dover,  whieh  stands  out  in  the  sea, 
our  ship  was  unfortunately  split  against  it ;  the  master 
said,  "Mes  amis,  nous  sommes  perdus";  or,  "My 
friends,  we  are  cast  away  "  ;  when  myself,  who  heard 
the  ship  crack  against  the  pier,  and  then  found  by  the 
master's  words  it  was  time  for  every  one  to  save  them- 
selves, if  they  could,  got  out  of  my  cabin  (though  very 
sea-sick),  and,  climbing  up  the  mast  a  little  way,  drew 
my  sword  and  flourished  it ;  they  at  Dover,  having  this 
sign  given  them,  adventured  in  a  shallop  of  six  oars  to 
relieve  us,  which  being  come  Avith  great  danger  to  the 
side  of  our  shijt,  I  got  into  it  first  with  my  sword  in  my 
hand,  and  called  for  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  saying,  that  if 
any  man  offei'ed  to  get  in  before  him,  I  should  resist 
him  with  my  sword  ;  whereupon  a  faithful  servant  of 
his,  taking  Sir  Th()mas  Lucy  out  of  the  cabin,  who  was 
half  dead  of  sea-sickness,  put  him  into  my  arms,  whom 
after  I  had  received,  I  bid  the  shallop  make  away  for 
shore,  and  the  rather  that  I  saw  another  shallop  com- 
ing to  relieve  us  ;  when  a  post  from  f^'rance,  who  car- 
ried letters,  finding  the  ship  still  rent  more  and  more, 
adventured  to  leaj)  from  the  top  of  our  ship  into  the 
shallop,  where  falling  fortunately  on  some  of  the 
stronger  timber  of  the  boat,  and  not  of  the  planks, 
which  he  must  needs  have  broken,  and  so  sunk  us,  had 
he  fallen  upon  them,  escaped  together  with  us  two  unto 
the  laud.    I  must  confess  myself,  as  also  the  seamen 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  77 

that  were  in  the  shaHop,  thought  once  to  have  killed 
liiin  for  this  desperate  attempt,  but,  finding  no  harm 
followed,  we  escaped  together  unto  tlu'  laud,  from 
whence  we  sent  more  shallops,  and  so  made  means  to 
save  both  men  and  horses  that  were  in  the  ship,  which 
yet  itself  was  wholly  split  and  cast  away,  insomuch 
that  in  pity  to  tlie  master,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  my- 
self gave  thirty  pounds  towards  his  loss,  wliich  yet  was 
not  so  great  as  we  thought,  since  the  tide  now  ebbing 
he  recovered  the  broken  parts  of  his  ship. 

Coming  thus  to  London  and  afterwards  to  court,  I 
kissed  his  majesty's  hand,  and  acquainted  him  with 
some  particulars  concerning  France.  As  for  the  present 
I  had  to  deliver  to  her  majesty  from  the  Princess  of 
Conti,  I  thought  fit  rather  to  send  it  by  one  of  the 
ladies  that  attended  her.  than  to  presume  to  demand 
audience  of  her  in  person ;  but  her  majesty,  not  satisfied 
herewith,  cinnmauded  me  to  attend  her,  and  demanded 
divers  questions  of  me  concerning  that  princess  and  the 
courts  in  France,  saying  she  would  speak  nuire  at  large 
with  me  at  some  other  time,  for  wliich  jmrpose  she 
commanded  me  to  wait  on  her  often,  wishing  me  to 
advise  her  what  present  she  might  return  l>ack  again. 

Howbeit  not  many  weeks  after  I  returned  to  my  wife 
and  family  again,  wliere  I  passed  some  time,  partly  in 
my  studies,  and  partly  riding  the  great  horse,  of  which 
I  had  a  stable  well  furnished  ;  no  horse  yet  was  so  dear 
to  me  as  the  genet  I  brought  from  France,  whose  love 
I  had  so  gotten  that  he  would  suffer  none  else  to  ride 
him,  nor  hideed  any  man  to  come  near  him,  when  I 
was  upon  him,  as  being  in  his  nature  a  most  furious 
horse  ;  his  true  picture  may  be  seen  in  the  chapel 
chamber  in  my  house,  where  I  am  painted  riding  him, 
and  this  motto  by  me, 


78  THE   LIFE   OF 

"  Me  totnm  Boiiitas  boniim  suprema 
Reddas  ;  me  intrepidiun  dabo  vcl  ipse." 

This  horse,  as  soon  as  ever  I  came  to  the  stable,  would 
neigh,  and  when  I  drew  nearer  liiin  would  lick  my 
hand,  and  (when  I  suffered  him)  my  cheek,  but  yet 
would  permit  nobody  to  come  near  his  heels  at  the 
same  time.  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  would  have  given  me 
£200  for  this  horse,  which,  though  I  would  not  accept, 
yet  I  left  the  horse  with  him  when  I  went  to  the  Low 
Countries,  who  nothing  after  died.  The  occasion  of 
my  going  thither  was  thus,  hearing  that  a  war  about 
the  title  of  Cleves,  Juliers,  and  some  other  provinces 
betwixt  the  Low  Countries  and  Germany  should  be 
made  by  the  several  j^rctenders  to  it,  and  that  tlie 
French  king  himself  would  cfime  with  a  great  army 
into  those  parts.  It  was  now  the  year  of  our  Lord 
IGIO,  when  my  Lord  Chandos*  and  myself  resolved 
to  take  shipping  for  the  Low  Countries,  and  from 
thence  to  pass  to  the  city  of  Juliers,  which  the  Prince 
<>f  Orange  res<dved  to  besiege:  making  all  liaste  thither, 
we  found  the  siege  newly  begun;  tlie  Low  Country 
army  assisted  by  four  thousand  English  under  the 
command  of  Sir  Edward  Cecil.  We  had  not  been 
long  there  when  the  Marshal  de  Chartres  instead  of 
Henry  the  Fourth,  who  was  killed  by  that  viUain 
Ravaillac,  came  witli  a  brave  French  army  thitlier,  in 
which  Monsieur  Balagny,  I  formerly  mentioned,  was 
a  colonel. 

My  Lord  Chandos  lodged  himself  in  the  quarters 
where  Sir  Horace  Vere  was ;  I  went  and  quartered 
with  Sir  Edward  Cecil,  where  I  was  lodged  next  to 

*  Grey  Bridges  Lord  Cliandos,  made  a  Knight  of  the  Balli  at  the 
rreatinn  of  Cliarles  Duke  of  York,  1C04;  and  called,  for  liis  hospitality 
and  niagnihcence,  the  Khig  of  Cotswold. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  79 

him  in  a  lint  I  made  there,  going  yet  both  hy  day  and 
night  to  the  trenches,  we  making  onr  approaches  to 
the  town  on  uue  side  aSd  the  French  un  tlie  ()ther. 
Our  Unes  were  drawn  towards  the  point  of  a  bulwark 
(jf  tlie  citadel  or  castle,  thought  to  be  one  of  the  best 
fortifications  in  Christendom,  and  encompassed  about 
with  a  deep  wet  ditch ;  we  lost  many  men  in  making 
these  approaches,  the  town  and  castle  being  very  well 
provided  both  witli  great  and  small  shot,  and  a  garrison 
in  it  of  about  four  thousand  men  besides  the  burgliers. 
Sir  Edward  Cecil  (who  was  a  very  active  general)  used 
often  during  this  siege  to  go  in  person  in  the  night- 
time to  try  waetlier  he  could  catch  any  sentinels  per- 
dues;  and  for  this  purpose  still  desired  me  to  accom- 
pany him,  in  performing  whereof  botli  of  us  did  much 
hazard  ourselves,  for  the  first  sentinel  retiring  to  the 
second  and  the  second  to  the  third,  three  shots  were 
commonly  made  at  us  before  we  could  do  anything ; 
though  afterwards  chasing  them  with  our  swords  almost 
home  unto  their  guards,  we  had  some  sport  in  the 
})ursuit  of  them. 

One  day  Sir  Edward  Cecil  and  myself  coming  to 
the  approaclies  that  Monsieur  de  Balagny  had  made 
towards  a  bulwark  or  bastion  of  that  city.  Monsieur  de 
Balagny,  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Edward  Cecil  and 
divers  Englisli  and  French  ca|)tain8  then  present, 
said,  "  Monsieur,  on  dit,  que  vous  etes  un  des  plus 
braves  de  votre  nation,  et  je  snis  Balagny,  alkms  voir  qui 
fera  le  mieux,"  —  "  They  say  you  are  (jne  of  the  bravest 
of  your  nation,  and  I  am  Balagny,  let  us  see  wlio  will 
do  best";  whereupon  leaping  suddenly  out  of  the 
trenches  with  his  sword  drawn,  I  did  in  tiie  like  man- 
ner suddenly  fidlow  him,  both  of  us  in  the  mean  while 
striving  who  slioiild  be  foremost,  wliic]i  lieiug  perceived 


80  THE   LIFE   OF 

by  those  of  the  bulwark  and  cortiiie  opposite  to  us, 
three  or  four  liuudred  shot  at  least,  great  and  small, 
were  made  against  us.  Our  ruuniug  on  forwards  in 
emulation  of  each  other  was  the  cause  that  all  the  shots 
fell  betwixt  us  and  the  trench  from  which  we  sallied. 
When  Monsieur  Balagny,  finding  such  a  storm  of 
bullets,  said,  "Par  Dieu  il  fait  bien  chaud," — "It  is 
very  hot  here."  I  answered  briefly  thus,  "  Vous  en  irez 
premier,  autrement  je  n'irai  jamais,"  —  "  You  shall  go 
first,  or  else  I  will  never  go  "  ;  hereupon  he  ran  with  all 
speed,  and  somewhat  crouching  towards  the  trenches, 
I  followed  after  leisurely  and  upright,  and  yet  came 
within  the  trenches  before  they  ou  the  bulwark  or 
cortine  could  charge  again,  which  passage  afterwards 
being  related  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  he  said  it  was  a, 
strange  bravado  of  Balagny,  and  that  we  went  to  an 
unavoidable  death. 

I  could  relate  divers  things  of  note  concerning 
myself,  during  the  siege,  but  do  ft)rbear,  lest  I  should 
relish  too  much  of  vanity ;  it  shall  suffice  that  my 
passing  over  the  ditch  unto  the  wall,  first  of  all  the 
nations  there,  is  set  down  by  Williana  Crofts,  master 
of  arts,  and  soldier,  who  hath  written  and  printed  the 
history  of  the  Low  Countries. 

There  happened  during  this  siege  a  particular  quari-el 
betwixt  me  and  the  Lord  of  Waldcn,*  eldest  son  to  the 
Earl  of  Suffolk,  lord  treasurer  of  England  at  that  time, 
which  I  do  but  unwillingly  relate,  in  regard  of  the 
great  esteem  I  have  of  that  noble  family,  howbeit  to 
avoid  misreports  I  have  thought  fit  to  set  it  down  truly. 
That  lord  having  been  invited  to  a  feast  in  Sir  Horace 

*  Tlu'opliilus  Lord  Ilowaril  of  Walden,  eldest  son  of  Thomas  Earl  of 
Suffolk,  whom  he  suececded  in  the  title,  and  was  Knight  of  the  Garter, 
Constalile  of  Dover  Castle,  and  captain  of  the  baud  of  pensioners.—  Kote 
to  En<rlish  Edition. 


EDWARD    LORD   HERBERT.  81 

Vere's  quartors,  where  (after  the  Low  Country  manner) 
there  was  liberal  drinking,  returned  not  long  after  to 
Sir  Edward  Cecil's  quarters,  at  which  time,  I  speaking 
merrily  to  him,  upon  some  slight  occasion,  he  took 
that  offence  at  me,  which  he  would  not  have  done  at 
another  time,  insomuch  that  he  came  towards  me  in  a 
violent  manner,  which  I  perceiving  did  more  than  half- 
way meet  him  ;  hut  the  company  were  so  vigilant  upon 
us  that  before  any  blow  passed  we  were  separated ;  how- 
heit,  because  he  made  towards  me,  I  tliought  fit  the 
next  day  to  send  him  a  challenge,  telling  him  that  if  he 
had  anything  to  say  to  me,  I  would  meet  him  in  such 
a  place  as  no  man  should  interrupt  us.  Shortly  after 
this.  Sir  Thomas  Paytou  came  to  me  on  his  part,  and 
tidd  me  my  lord  would  fight  with  me  on  horseback 
with  single  sword,  "  and,"  said  he,  ''  I  will  be  his 
second  ;  where  is  yours  ?  "  I  replied  that  neither  his 
lordship  nor  myself  brought  over  any  great  horses  with 
us  ;  that  I  knew  he  might  much  better  borrow  one 
than  myself:  howbeit,  as  soon  as  he  showed  me  the 
place,  he  should  find  me  there  on  horseback  or  on  foot ; 
whereupon,  both  of  us  riding  together  upon  two  geldings 
to  the  side  of  a  wood,  Payton  said  he  chose  that  place, 
and  the  time,  break  of  day  the  next  morning ;  I  told 
him  I  would  fail  neither  place  nor  time,  though  I  knew 
ntrt  where  to  get  a  better  horse  than  the  nag  I  rode  on  ; 
'^and  as  for  a  second,  I  shall  trust  to  your  nobleness, 
who  I  know  will  see  fair  play  betwixt  us,  though  you 
come  on  his  side  "  :  but  he  urging  me  again  to  provide 
a  second,  I  told  him  I  could  promise  for  none  but  my- 
self, and  that  if  I  spoke  to  any  of  my  fri(!nds  in  the 
army  to  this  purjjose,  I  doubted  lest  the  business 
might  be  discovered  and  prevented. 

He  was   no  sooner  gone   from  me,  but  night  drew 


82  THE   LIFE   OF 

on,  myself  resolving  in  the  mean  time  to  rest  under  a 
fair  oak  aU  uiglit ;  after  tliis,  tying  my  horse  by  the 
bridle   unto  another  tree,  I  had   not  now  rested  two 
hours,  when  I  found  some  fires  nearer  to  me  than  I 
thought  was  possible  in  so  solitary  a  place,  whereupon, 
also  having  the  curiosity  to  see  the  reason  hereof,  I  got 
on  horseback  again,  and  had  not  rode  very  far  when, 
by  the  talk  of  the  soldiers  there,  I  found  I  was  in  the 
Scotch  quarter,  where,  finding  in  a  stable  a  very  fair 
horse  of  service,  I  desired  to  know  whether  he  might 
be  l>ought  for  any  reasonable  sum  of  money  ;  but  a 
soldier  replying,  it  was  their  captain's.  Sir  James  Are- 
skin's  chief  horse,  I  demanded  for  Sir  James,  but  the 
siddior  answering  he  was   not  within  the  quarter,  I 
demanded  then  for  his  heutenant,  wliereupon  the  sol- 
dier courteously  desired  him  to  come  to  me.    This  lieu- 
tenant was  called  Montgomery,  and  liad  the  reputation 
of  a  gallant  man.    I  told  liim  that  1  would  very  fain 
buy  a  horse,  and  if  it  were  possible  the  horse  I  saw 
but  a  little  before  ;  but  lie  telling  me  ntme  was  to  be 
stdd  there,  I  ottered  to  leave  in  his  hands  one  hundred 
pieces,  if  he  would  lend  me  a  good  horse  for  a  day  or 
two,  he  to  restore  me  the  money  again  when  I  deliv- 
ered him  the  horse  in  good  plight,  and   did  besides 
bring  him  some  present  as  a  gratuity. 

Tlie  lieutenant,  though  lie  did  not  know  me,  suspected 
I  had  some  private  quarrel,  and  that  I  desired  this 
horse  to  fight  on,  and  thereupon  t<dd  me,  ''Sir,  whoso- 
ever you  are,  you  seem  to  be  a  person  of  worth,  and 
you  sliall  have  the  best  horse  in  the  stable;  and  if  you 
have  a  quaiTel  and  want  a  second,  I  ofler  myself  to 
serve  you  upon  another  horse,  and  if  you  will  let  me  go 
along  with  you  upon  these  terms,  1  will  ask  no  pawn 
of  y(ju  for  the  horse."     I  told  hiin  I  would  use  no  sec- 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  83 

ond,  and  I  desired  him  to  accept  one  hundred  pieces, 
which  I  had  there  about  me,  in  pawn  for  the  horse,  and 
he  should  hear  from  me  shortly  again  ;  and  that  though 
I  did  not  take  his  noble  offer  of  coming  along  with  me,  I 
should  evermore  rest  much  obliged  to  him  ;  whereupon 
giving  him  my  purse  with  the  money  in  it,  I  got  upon 
his  horse  and  left  my  nag  besides  with  him. 

Riding  thus  away  about  twelve  o'clock  at  night  to 
the  wood  from  whence  I  came,  I  alighted  from  my 
horse,  and  rested  there  until  morning ;  the  day  now 
breaking  I  got  on  horseback,  and  attended  the  Lord  of 
Walden  with  his  second.  The  first  person  that  ap- 
peared was  a  footman,  who,  I  heard  afterwards,  was 
sent  by  the  Lady  of  Walden,  who,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me,  ran  back  again  with  all  speed ;  I  meant  once  to 
pursue  him,  but  that  I  thought  it  better  at  last  to  keep 
my  place.  About  two  hours  after,  Sir  William  St. 
Leiger,  now  Lord  President  of  Munster,  came  to  me, 
and  told  me  he  knew  the  cause  of  my  l)eing  there,  and 
that  the  business  was  discovered  by  the  Lord  Walden's 
rising  so  early  that  morning,  and  the  suspicion  that  he 
meant  to  fight  with  me,  and  had  Sir  Thomas  Payton 
Avith  him,  and  that  he  would  ride  to  him,  and  that 
there  were  thirty  or  forty  sent  after  us,  to  hinder 
us  from  meeting;  shortly  after  many  more  came 
to  the  place  where  I  was,  and  told  me  I  must  not 
fight,  and  that  they  were  sent  for  the  same  purpose, 
and  that  it  was  to  no  purpose  to  stay  there,  and  thence 
rode  to  seek  the  Lord  of  Walden.  I  stayed  yet  tAvo 
iKJurs  longer,  but,  finding  still  more  company  came  in, 
rode  back  again  to  the  Scotch  quarters,  and  delivered 
the  horse  back  again,  and  received  my  money  and  nag 
from  Lieutenant  Montgomery,  and  so  witlulrew  myself 
to  the  French  quarters,  until  I  did  find  some  convenient 
time  to  send  again  to  the  Lord  Walden. 


84  THE   LIFE   OF 

Being  among  the  French,  I  remembered  myself  of 
the  bravado  of  Monsieur  Balagny,  and,  coming  to  him, 
told  him  I  knew  how  brave  a  man  he  was,  and  that 
as  he  had  put  me  to  one  trial  of  daring,  when 
I  was  last  with  him  in  his  trenches,  I  would  put 
him  to  another ;  saying,  1  heard  he  had  a  fair  mistress, 
and  that  the  scarf  he  wore  was  her  gift,  and  that  I 
would  maintain  I  had  a  worthier  mistress  than  he,  and 
that  I  wt)uld  do  as  mucli  for  her  sake  as  he  or  any  else 
durst  do  for  his.  Balagny  hereupon  looking  merrily  upon 
me,  said,  that  for  his  part,  he  had  no  mind  to  fight  on  that 
quarrel.  I,  looking  hereupon  somewhat  disdainfully  on 
him,  said  he  spoke  more  like  a  paillard  than  a  cavalier, 
to  which  he  answering  nothing  I  rode  my  ways,  and 
afterwards  went  to  Monsieur  Terant,  a  French  gentle- 
man that  belonged  to  the  Duke  of  ftlontmorency,  for- 
merly mentioned ;  who  telling  me  he  had  a  quan-el  with 
another  gentleman,  I  offered  to  be  his  second,  Init  ho 
saying  he  was  provided  already,  I  rode  thence  to  the 
English  quarters,  attending  some  fit  occasion  to  send 
again  to  the  Lord  Walden.  I  came  no  sooner  thither 
than  I  found  Sir  Thomas  Somerset,*  with  eleven  or 
twelve  more  at  the  head  of  the  English,  who  were  then 
drawing  forth  in  a  body  or  squadron,  who  seeing  mc 
on  horseback,  with  a  footman  only  that  attended  me, 
gave  me  some  affronting  words  for  my  quarrelling  with 
the  Lord  of  Walden ;  whereujKin  I  aliglited,  and  giv- 
ing my  horse  to  my  lackey,  drew  my  sword,  which  he  no 
sooner  saw  but  he  drew  his,  as  also  all  the  company 
with  him.  I  running  hereupon  amongst  them,  put  by 
some  of  their  thrusts,  and  making  t<nvards  him  in  par- 

*  He  was  third  son  of  Edward  Earl  of  Worcester,  Lord  Privy  Seal  to 
Queen  Elizabeth  and  Kin<;  James.  Sir  Thomas  was  Master  of  the  Horse 
to  Queen  Anne,  was   made  a  Knight  of  the  Bath   in  lGO-1,  and  Viscount 

Somerset  of  Cassel  in  Ireland. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  85 

ticular  put  by  a  thrust  of  his.  and  had  certainly  run 
him  through,  but  that  one  Lieutenant  Prichard,  at  that 
instant  taking  me  by  the  shoulder,  turned  me  aside ; 
but  I  recovering  myself  again  ran  at  him  a  second  time, 
which  he  perceiving  retired  himself  with  the  company 
to  the  tents  which  were  near,  though  not  so  fost  but  I 
hurt  one  Proger,  and  some  others  also  that  were  with 
liim ;  but  they  being  all  at  last  got  within  the  tents,  I, 
finding  now  nothing  else  to  be  done,  got  to  my  house 
again,  having  received  only  a  slight  hui't  on  the  out- 
side of  my  ribs,  and  two  thrusts,  the  one  through  the 
skirts  of  my  doublet,  and  the  other  through  my 
breeches,  and  about  eighteen  nicks  upon  my  sword  and 
hilt,  and  so  rode  to  the  trenches  before  Juliers,  where 
our  soldiers  were. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  town  being  now  sun'cndered, 
and  everybody  preparing  to  go  their  ways,  I  sent  again 
a  gentleman  to  the  Lord  of  Walden  to  offer  him  the 
meeting  with  my  sword,  but  this  was  avoided  not  very 
handsomely  by  him  (contrary  to  what  8ir  Henry  Rich, 
now  Earl  of  Holland,  persuaded  him). 

After  having  taken  leave  of  his  excellency  Sir  Edward 
Cecil,  I  thought  fit  to  return  on  my  way  homewards  as 
far  as  Dusseldoi'tf.  I  had  been  scarce  two  hours  in  my 
lodgings,  when  one  Lieutenant  Hamilton  brought  a  let- 
ter from  Sir  James  Areskin  (who  was  then  in  towoi 
likewise)  unto  me,  the  efTcct  whereof  was,  that  in  regard 
his  Lieutenant  Montgomery  had  told  him  that  I  had  the 
said  James  Areskin's  consent  for  b()rrowing  his  horse, 
he  did  desire  me  to  do  one  of  two  things,  which  was 
either  to  disavow  the  said  words,  which  he  thought  in 
his  conscience  I  never  spoke,  or  if  I  would  justify 
them,  then  to  appoint  time  and  phice  to  fight  with  him ; 
having  considered  awhile  what    I  was    to  do  in  this 


86  THE   LIFE   OF 

case,  I  toltl  Lieiitcuant  Hamilton  that  I  thought  myself 
bound  in  honor  to  accept  the  more  noble  part  of  his 
proposition,  wliich  was  to  fight  with  him,  when  yet 
perchance  it  might  be  easy  enough  for  mc  to  say  that  I 
had  his  horse  upon  other  terms  than  was  affinned ; 
whereupon  also  giving  Lieutenant  Hamilton  the  Icn.'^lli 
of  my  sword,  T  told  him  that  as  soon  as  CYcr  ho  matched 
it,  I  would  fight  with  him,  wishing  him  farther  to 
make  haste,  since  I  desired  to  end  the  business  as 
speedily  as  could  be.  Lieutenant  Hamilton,  hereupon 
returning  back,  met  in  a  cross  street  (I  know  not  by 
what  miraculous  adventure)  Lieutenant  Montgomery, 
conveying  divers  of  the  hurt  and  maimed  soldiers  at  the 
siege  of  St.  Juliers  unto  that  town,  to  be  lodged  and 
dressed  by  the  chirurgeons  there.  Hamilton,  hereupon 
calling  to  Montgomery,  told  him  the  effects  of  his  cap- 
tain's letter,  together  with  my  answer,  which  Mont- 
gomery no  sooner  heard,  but  he  replied  (as  Hamilton 
told  me  afterwards),  ''  I  see  that  noble  gentleman  choos- 
eth  rather  to  fight  than  to  contradict  me  ;  but  my 
telling  a  he  must  not  be  an  occasion  why  either  my 
captain  or  he  should  hazard  their  lives :  I  will  alight 
from  my  horse,  and  tell  my  captain  presently  how  all 
that  matter  past" ;  whereupon  also,  he  relating  the  busi- 
ness about  boiTowing  the  horse,  in  that  manner,  I 
fonnerly  set  down,  which,  as  sofm  as  8ir  James  Areskin 
heard,  he  sent  Lieutenant  PLamilton  to  me  presently 
again,  to  tell  me  he  was  satisfied  how  the  business 
passed,  and  that  he  had  nothing  to  say  to  me,  but  that  he 
was  my  most  humble  servant,  and  was  sorry  he  ever 
questioned  me  in  that  manner. 

Some  occasions  detaining  me  in  Dusseldorff,  the 
next  day  Lieutenant  Montgomery  came  to  me,  and  told 
me  he  was  in  danger  of  losing  his  place,  and  desired 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  87 

me  to  make  means  to  his  excellency,  the  Prince  of  Or- 
ange, that  he  might  not  he  cashiered,  or  else  that  he 
was  nnJoue.  I  told  Inm  that  either  I  would  keep  liim 
in  his  place,  or  take  him  as  my  companion  and  friend, 
and  allow  him  sufficient  means  till  I  could  provide  liim 
another  as  good  as  it ;  which  he  taking  very  kindly, 
hut  desiring  chieHy  he  might  go  with  my  letter  to  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  I  ohtained  at  last  he  should  he  re- 
stored to  his  place  again. 

And  now  taking  hoat,  I  passed  along  the  river  of  Rhine 
to  the  Low  Countries,  where,  after  some  stay,  I  went  to 
Antwerp  and  Brussels,  and  having  passed  some  tune  in 
the  court  there,  went  from  thence  to  Calais,  where 
taking  ship  I  arrived  at  Dover,  and  so  weut  to  Lou- 
don. I  had  scarce  been  two  days  there,  when  the  lords 
of  the  council,  sending  for  me,  ended  the  difterence  be- 
twixt the  Lord  of  Walden  and  myself.  And  now,  if  I 
may  say  it  without  vanity,  I  was  in  great  esteem  both 
in  court  and  city,  many  of  the  greatest  desiring  my 
company,  though  yet  before  that  time  I  had  no  ac- 
quaintance with  them.  Richard,  Earl  of  Dorset,*  to 
whom  otherwise  I  was  a  stranger,  one  day  invited  me 
to  Dorset  House,  where,  bringing  me  into  his  gallery 
and  showiug  me  many  pictures,  he  at  last  brought  me 
to  a  frame  covered  witli  green  tafieta,  and  aslvcd  me 
who  I  thought  was  there ;  and  therewithal,  presently 
drawing  the  curtain,  showed  me  my  own  picture, 
whereupon,  demanding  how  his  lordsliip  came  to  have 
it,  he  answered  that  he  had  heard  so  many  brave 
things  of  me  that  he  got  a  copy  of  a  picture  which  one 
Lai'kin,  a  painter,  drew  for  me,  the  original  whereof  I 

*  Rkhaid  Sark\  illi-,  Earl  of  Dorset,  grandson  of  tlie  treasurer,  and 
hn»l>aiid  of  tlio  famous  Auuc  Clifford,  Countess  of  Dorset  and  Pem- 
broke. 


88  THE   LIFE   OF 

intended  before  my  departure  to  the  Low  Countries  for 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy ;  but  not  only  the  Earl  of  Dorset, 
but  a  greater  person*  than  I  will  here  nominate,  got 
another  copy  from  Larkin,  and  placing  it  afterwards  in 
her  cabinet  (without  that  ever  I  knew  .any  such  thing 
was  done)  gave  occasion  to  those  that  saw  it  after  her 
death,  of  more  discourse  than  I  could  have  wished  ; 
and  indeed  I  may  truly  say,  that  taking  of  my  picture 
was  fatal  to  me,  for  more  reasons  than  I  shall  think  fit 
to  deliver. 

There  was  a  lady  also,  wife  to  Sir  John  Ayres, 
Knight,  who  finding  some  means  to  get  a  cojiy  of  my 
picture  from  Larkin,  gave  it  to  Mr.  Isaac, f  the  painter 
in  Blackft'iars,  and  desired  him  to  draw  it  in  httle  after 
his  manner,  which  being  done,  she  caused  it  to  be  set 
in  gold  and  enamelled,  and  so  wore  it  about  her  neck, 
which  I  conceive  coming  afterwards  to  the  knowledge 
of  Sir  John  Ayres,  gave  him  more  cause  of  jeahmsy 
than  needed,  had  he  known  how  innocent  I  was  from 
pretenchng  to  anything  which  might  wrong  him  or  his 
lady,  since  I  could  not  so  much  as  imagine  that  either 
she  had  my  ]3icture,  or  that  she  bore  more  than  ordi- 
nary affection  to  me ;  it  is  true,  that  as  she  had  a 
place  in  court,  and  attended  Queen  Anne,  and  was  be- 
sides of  an  excellent  wit  and  discourse,  she  had  made 
herself  a  considerable  person. 

I  had  iiutlteen  long  in  London,  when  a  violent  burn- 
ing fever  seized  upon  me,  which  brought  me  almost  to 
my  death,  though  at  last  I  did  by  slow  degrees  recover 
my  health  ;  being  tlius  upon  my  amendment,  the  Lord 

*  This  was  certainly  Queen  Anne,  as  appears  in  the  very  respectful 
terms  in  uhieli  he  speaks  of  her  a  litlle  farther,  and  from  other  i)assages, 
when  he  mentions  the  secret  and  dangerous  enemies  he  had  ou  this 
account. 

t  Isaac  Oliver. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  89 

Lisle,*  aftcrwarils  Eai"l  of  Leicester,  sent  me  word 
that  Sir  Jolin  Ayres  intended  to  kill  nie  in  my  bed, 
and  wished  me  to  keep  a  guard  upon  my  chamber  and 
person:  the  same  advertisement  was  confirmed  by 
Lucy,  Countess  of  Bedford, f  and  the  Lady  Hobby, f 
shortly  after.  Hereupon  I  thought  fit  to  entreat  8ir 
William  Herbert,  now  Lord  Powis,  to  go  to  Sir  John 
Ayres,  and  tell  him  that  I  marvelled  much  at  the  infor- 
mation given  me  by  these  great  persons,  and  that  I 
could  not  imagine  any  sufficient  ground  hereof;  how- 
beit,  if  he  had  anything  to  say  to  me  in  a  fair  and 
noble  way,  I  would  give  him  the  meeting  as  soon  as  I 
had  got  strength  enough  to  stand  upon  my  legs ;  Sir 
William  hereupon  brought  me  so  ambiguous  and 
doubtful  an  answer  from  him,  that,  whatsoever  ho 
meant,  he  would  not  declare  yet  his  intention,  which 
was  really,  as  I  found  afterwards,  to  kill  me  any  way 
that  he  could.  Finding  no  means  thus  to  surprise  me, 
sent  me  a  letter  to  this  effect ;  that  he  desired  to  meet 
me  somewhere,  and  that  it  might  so  fall  out  as  I  might 
return  quietly  again.  To  this  I  replied,  that  if  he  de- 
sired to  fight  with  me  upon  equal  terms,  I  should, 
upon  assurance  of  the  field  and  fair  play,  give  him 
meeting  when  he  did  anyway  specify  the  came,  and 
that  I  did  not  think  fit  to  come  to  him  upon  any  other 
terms,  having  been  sufficiently  informed  of  his  plots 
to  assassinate  me. 

After  this,  finding  he  could  take  no  advantage  against 
me,  then  in  a  treacherous  way  he  resolved  t<j  assassinate 

*  Robert  Sidney,  Earl  of  Leicester,  younger  lirother  of  Sir  Philip  Sid- 
ney. 

t  Lucy  Harrington,  wif(^  of  Edward  Earl  of  Bedford,  a  great  patroness 
of  tlie  wits  and  jiocts  of  that  age, 

$  Probaljly  Anne,  second  wife  of  Sir  Edward  IIol)l)y,  a  patron  of  Cam- 
dea. 


90  THE   LIFE   OF 

me  in  this  manner:  hearing  I  was  to  come  to  White- 
hall on  horseback  with  two  lackeys  only,  he  attended 
my  coming  back  in  a  place  called  Scotland  Yard,  at  the 
hither  end  of  WliiU'hall,  as  you  come  to  it  from  the 
Strand,   hiding  himself  here  with  four  men  armed  on 
purpose  to  kill  me.     I  took  horse  at  Wliitehall  Gate, 
and  passing  by  that  place,  he  Ix'ing  armed  with  a  sword 
and  dagger,  without  giving  me  so  much  as  the  least 
warning,  ran  at  me  furiously,  but  instead  of  me  wounded 
my  horse  in  the  brisket,  as  far  as  his  sword  could  enter 
for  the  bone  ;  my  horse  hereupon  starting  aside,  he  ran 
him  again  in  the  shoulder,  which,  though  it  made  the 
horse   more  timorous,  yet  gave  me  time  to  draw  my 
sword ;    his    men   thereupon    encompassed    me,    and 
wounded  my  horse  in  three  places  more ;  this  made 
my  horse  kick  and  fling  in  that  manner  as  his  men  durst 
not  come  near  me,  which  advantage  I  took  to  strike 
at  Sir  John  Ayres  with  all  my  force,  but  he  warded 
the  blow  both  with  his  sword  and   dagger:    instead 
of  doing  him  harm,  I  broke  my  sword  Avithin  a  foot 
of  the  hilt ;  hereupon,  some  passenger  that  knew  me, 
and  observing  my  horse  bleeding  in  so  many  places, 
and  so  many  men  assaulting  me,  and  my  sword  broken, 
cried  to  me  several  times,   ''Ride  away,  ride  away"; 
but   I   scorning  a  base   flight,  upon  what   terms  so- 
ever, instead  thereof  alighted  as  well  as  I  could  from 
my  horse.     I   had  no   sooner   put   one  foot  upon  the 
ground,  but    Sir   John  Ayres,  ptn'suing  me,  made  at 
my  horse  again,  which  the  horse  perceiving,  pressed 
on  me  on  the   side  I   alighted,  in  that  manner  that 
he  threw  me  down,  so  that  I  remained  flat  upon  the 
ground,   only  one  foot  hanging  in   the   stirrup,   with 
that  jiiece   of   a  sword  in  my   right  hand.    Sir  John 
Ayres  hereupon  ran  about  the  horse,  and  was  thrusting 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT.  91 

his  sword  into  me,  when  I  finding  myself  in  tliis  danger, 
did  witli  both  my  arms  reaching  at  his  legs  pull  them 
towards  me,  till  he  fell  down  backwards  on  his  head. 
One  of  my  footmen  hereupon,  who  was  a  little  Shrop- 
shire boy,  freed  my  foot  out  of  the  stirrup,  the  other, 
which  was  a  great  fellow,  having  run  away  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  first  assault ;  this  gave  me  time  to  get  upon 
my  legs,  and  to  put  myself  in  the  best  posture  I  could 
with  that  poor  remnant  of  a  weaiton.  Sir  John  Ayres 
by  this  time  hkewise  was  got  up,  standing  betwixt  me 
and  some  part  of  Whitehall,  with  two  men  on  each 
side  of  him,  and  his  brother  behind  him,  with  at  least 
twenty  or  thirty  persons  of  his  friends  or  attendants  of 
the  Earl  of  Sufl'ulk  ;  observing  thus  a  body  of  men 
standing  in  opposition  against  me,  though  to  speak 
truly  I  saw  no  swords  drawn  but  by  Sir  John  Ayres 
and  his  men,  I  ran  violently  against  Sir  John  Ayres, 
but  he,  knowing  my  sword  had  no  point,  held  his  sword 
and  dagger  over  his  head,  as  believing  I  could  strike 
rather  than  thrust,  which  I  no  s(^oner  perceived  but  I 
put  a  home  thrust  to  the  middle  of  his  breast,  that  I 
threw  him  down  with  so  much  force,  that  his  head  fell 
first  to  the  ground,  and  his  heels  upwards  ;  his  men 
hereupon  assaulted  me,  when  one  Mr.  Mansel,  a  Gla- 
morganshire gentleman,  finding  so  many  set  against 
me  alone,  closed  with  one  of  them  ;  a  Scotch  gentleman, 
also  closing  with  another,  took  him  off  also  ;  all  I 
could  well  do  to  those  two  which  remained  was  to 
ward  their  thrusts,  which  I  did  with  that  resolution 
that  I  got  ground  upon  them.  Sir  John  Ayres  was 
now  got  up  a  third  time,  when  I  making  towards  him 
with  intention  to  close,  thinking  tliat  tliere  was  other- 
wise no  safety  for  me,  put  by  a  thrust  of  liis  with  my 
left  hand,  and  so  coming  within  him,  received  a  stab 


92  THE   LIFE    OF 

with  his  dagger  on  my  right  side,  whicli  ran  down  my 
ribs  as  far  as  my  hip,  which  I,  feeling,  did  with  my 
right  elbow  force  his  hand,  together  with   the  hilt  of 
the  dagger  so  near  the  ui)])er  part  of  my  right  side,  that 
I  made  him  leave  hold.     The  dagger  now  sticking  in 
me,    Sir   Henry   Gary,  afterwards    Lord  of  Falkland 
and  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  finding  the  dagger  thus 
in  my  body,  snatched  it  out ;  this  while  I  being  closed 
with  Sir  John  Ayres,  hurt  him  on  the  head,  and  threw 
him  down  a  third  time,  when  kneeling  on  the  ground, 
and  bestriding  him,  I  struck  at  him  as  hard  as  I  could 
with  my  piece  of  a  sword^  and  wounded  him  in  four 
several  places,  and  did  almost  cut  off  his  left  hand  ;  his 
two  men  this  while  struck  at  me,  but  it  pleased  God 
even  miraculously  to  defend  me,  for  when  I  lifted  up 
my  sword  to  strike  at  Sir  John  Ayres,  I  bore  off  their 
blows  half  a  dozen  times  ;  his  friends,  now  finding  him 
in  this  danger,  took   liim  by  the   head  and  shoulders, 
and  drew  him  from  betwixt  my  legs,  and  carrying  him 
along  with  them    through    Whitehall,   at    the    stairs 
whereof  he  took  boat.     Sir  Herbert  Croft  (as  he  t(dd 
me  afterwards)  met  him  upon  the  water  vomiting  all 
the  way,  which  I  beheve  was  caused  by  th(!  violence 
of  the  first  thrust  I  gave  him  ;  his   servants,  brother, 
and  friends  being  now  retired  also,  I  remained  master 
of  the  place  and  his  weapons,  having  first  wrested  his 
dagger  from  him,  and  afterwai'ds  struck  his  sword  out 
of  his  hand. 

This  being  done,  I  retired  to  a  friend's  house  in  the 
Strand,  where  I  sent  for  a  surgeon,  who,  searching  my 
wound  on  the  right  s'ide,  and  finding  it  not  to  be  mortal, 
cured  me  in  the  space  of  some  ten  days,  during  whicli 
time  I  received  many  noble  visits  and  messages  from 
some  of  the  best  in  the  kingdom.     Being  now  fully 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  93 

recovered  of  my  hurts,  I  dcsirod  Sir  liohcrt  Harley* 
to  go  to  Sir  Jiiliii  Ayrcs,  and  tell  liiiii,  that  though  I 
thought  he  had  not  so  uuu'li  honor  k'ft  in  him  tliat  I 
could  he  any  M'ay  amhitious  to  get  it,  yet  that  I  desired 
to  see  him  in  the  fiehl  with  his  sword  in  his  hand  ;  the 
answer  that  he  sent  me  was,  that  he  wouki  kill  me 
with  a  musket  out  of  a  window. 

The  lords  of  tlu;  privy  council,  who  had  first  sent 
for  my  sword,  that  they  might  see  the  little  fragment  of 
a  weapon  with  which  I  had  so  liehaved  myself,  as  per- 
chance the  like  had  not  heen  heard  in  any  credihle  way, 
did  afterwards  command  hoth  him  and  me  to  aj)])ear 
before  them  ;  but  I,  absenting  myself  on  purpose,  sent 
one  Huinidirey  Hill  with  a  challenges  to  him  in  an 
ordinai-y,  which  he  refusing  to  receive,  Humphrey  Hill 
put  it  upon  the  point  of  his  sword,  and  so  let  it  fall 
before  him  and  the  company  then  present. 

The  lords  of  the  privy  council  had  now  taken  order 
to  apprehend  Sir  Jolin  Ayres,  when  I,  finding  nothing 
else  to  be  done,  submitted  myself  likewise  to  them. 
Sir  John  Ayres  had  now  published  everywhere  that  the 
ground  of  his  jealousy,  and  consequently  (tf  his  assault- 
ing me,  was  drawn  fnnn  the  confession  of  his  wife,  the 
Lady  Ayres.  She,  to  vindicate  her  honor,  as  well  as 
free  me  from  this  accusation,  sent  a  letter  to  licr  aunt, 
the  Lady  Crook,  to  this  purpose,  that  her  husband. 
Sir  John  Ayres,  did  lie  falsely,  but  most  falsely  of  all 
did  lie  when  he  said  he  had  it  from  her  confession,  for 
she  had  never  said  any  such  thing. 

This  letter  the  Lady  Crook  presented  to  me  most 
opportunely,  as  I  was  going  to  the  council  table  before 
tins  lords,  who,  having  exanuiKsd  Sir  John  Ayres  con- 
cerning tlie  cause  of  his  quarrel  against  me,  found  him 

*  Kuislit  of  tlie  Bath  and  Master  of  Uie  Mint. 


94  THE  LIFE   OF 

still  persist  on  his  wife's  confession  of  the  fact ;  and 
and  now,  he  being  withdrawn,  I  was  sent  for,  when  the 
Duke  of  Lenox,*  afterwards  of  Richmond,  telling  nie 
that  was  the  ground  of  his  quarrel,  and  the  only  excuse 
he  had  for  assaulting  nie  in  that  manner,  I  desired  his 
lordship  to  peruse  the  letter,  which  I  told  him  was 
given  me  as  I  came  intcj  the  room ;  this  letter  heing 
puhlicly  read  by  a  clerk  of  the  council,  the  Duke  of 
Lenox  then  said  that  he  thought  Sir  John  Ayres  the 
most  miserable  man  living,  for  his  wife  had  not  only 
given  him  the  lie,  as  he  found  by  her  letter,  but  his 
father  had  disinherited  him  for  attemjiting  to  kill  me  in 
that  barbarous  fashion,  which  was  most  true,  as  I  found 
afterwards.     For  the  rest,  that  I  might  content  myself 
Avith  what  I  had  done,  it  being  more  almost  than  could 
be  believed,  but  that  I  had  so  many  witnesses  thereof; 
for  all  which  reasons  he  commanded  me,  in  the  name 
of  his  majesty,  and  all  their  lordships,  not  to  send  any 
more  to  Sir  John  Ayres,  nor  to  receive  any  message 
from  him  in  the  way  of  fighting,  Avhich  commandment 
I  observed  :  howbeit,  I  must  not  omit  to  tell  that  some 
years  afterward  Sir  John  Ayres  returning  from  Ireland 
by  Beaumaris,  where  I  then  was,  some  of  my  servants 
and  followers  broke  open  the  doors  of  the  house  where 
he  was,  and  would,  I  believe,  have  cut  him  into  pieces, 
but  that  T,  hearing  thereof,  came  suddenly  to  the  house 
and  recalled  them,  sending  him  word  also  that  I  scorned 
to  give  him  the  usage  he  gave  me,  and  that  I  would 
set   him   fi-ee  of  the  town,  which  courtesy  of  mine, 
as  I  was  told  afterwards,  he  did  thankfully  acknowl- 
edge. 

About  a  month  after  that  Sir  John  Ayres  attempted 

*  Lodowic  Stuart,  Duke  of  Lenox  and  Ricliiiiund,  was  Lord  Steward  of 
llic;  Household  and  Knirfit  of  tlic  Garter. 


EDWAKD   LORD   HERBEKT.  95 

to  assassinate  me,  the  news  thereof  was  earned,  I  know 
not  how,  to  the  Duke  of  Montmorency,  who  presently- 
despatched  a  gentleman  whh  a  letter  to  me,  which  I 
keep,  and  a  kind  offer  that  if  I  would  come  unto  him 
I  should  be  used  as  his  own  son  ;  neither  had  this  gen- 
tleman, as  I  know  of,  any  other  business  in  England. 
I  was  told  besides  by  this  gentleman  that  the  duke 
heard  I  had  greater  and  more  enemies  than  did  pub- 
licly declare  themselves,  which  indeed  was  true,  and 
that  he  doubted  I  might  have  a  mischief  before  I  was 
aware. 

My  answer  hereunto  by  letter  was  that  I  rendered 
most  humble  thanks  for  his  great  favor  in  sending  to 
me  ;  that  no  enemies  how  great  or  many  soever  could 
force  me  out  of  the  kingdom  ;  but  if  ever  there  were 
occasion  to  serve  him  in  particular,  I  should  not  fail  to 
come ;  for  perforuianee  whereof,  it  liappenhig  there  were 
some  overtures  of  a  civil  war  in  France  tlie  next  year, 
I  sent  over  a  French  gentleman,  who  attended  me,  unto 
the  Duke  of  Montmorency,  expressly  to  tell  him  that 
if  he  had  occasion  to  use  my  service  in  the  designed 
war  I  would  bring  over  one  hundred  liorse  at  my  own 
cost  and  charges  to  him  ;  whicli  that  good  old  duke 
and  constable  took  so  kindly  that  (as  the  Duchess  of 
Antedur,*  his  daughter,  told  me  afterwards  when  I 
was  ambassador)  tliere  were  few  days  until  the  last  of 
his  life  that  he  did  not  speak  of  me  with  much  affection. 

I  can  say  little  more  memorable  concerning  myself 
from  the  year  IGll,  when  I  was  hurt,  until  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1614,  than  that  I  passed  my  time  sometimes  in 
the  court,  where  I  protest  before  God  I  had  more 
favors  than  I  desired,  and  sometimes  in  the  country, 
without    any   memorable   accident ;    but   only  that   it 

*  Ventadour. 


06  THE   LIFE   OF 

happened  one  time  going  from  St.  Gillian's  to  Aber- 
gavenny, in  the  way  to  Montgomery  Castle,  Richard 
Griffiths,  a  servant  of  mine,  heiug  come  near  a  bridge 
over  Husk  not  far  from  the  town,  thought  fit  to  water 
his  horse,  but  the  river  being  deep  and  strong  in  that 
place  where  he  entered  it,  he  was  carried  down  the 
stream  ;  my  servants  that  were  before  me,  seeing  this, 
cried  aloud  Dick  Griffiths  was  drowning,  which  I  no 
sooner  heard,  but  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse,  and  coming 
up  to  the  place,  wdiere  I  saw  him  as  high  as  his  middle 
in  water,  leaped  into  the  river  a  little  below  him,  and 
swimming  up  to  him  bore  him  up  with  one  of  my 
hands  and  brought  him  into  the  middle  of  the  river, 
where,  thi-ough  God's  great  })rovidence,  was  a  bank  of 
sand  ;  coming  hither,  not  without  some  difficulty,  we 
rested  ourselves,  and  advised  whether  it  were  better  to 
return  back  unto  the  side  from  whence  we  came,  or  to 
go  on  forwards ;  but  Dick  Griffiths  saying  we  were 
Siire  to  swim  if  we  returned  back,  and  that  perchance 
the  river  might  be  shallow  the  other  way,  I  followed 
his  counsel,  and,  putting  my  horse  below  him,  bore  him 
up  in  the  manner  J  did  formerly,  and,  swimming  through 
the  river,  brought  him  safe  to  the  other  side.  The 
horse  I  rode  upon  I  remember  cost  me  forty  pounds,  and 
was  the  same  horse  which  Sir  John  Ayres  hurt  under 
me,  and  did  swim  exceedingly  well,  carrying  me  and  his 
back  above  water;  whereas  that  httle  nag  u2:»on  which 
Eicliard  Griffiths  rode  swam  so  low  that  he  must  needs 
have  drowned  if  I  had  not  supported  him. 

1  -will  tell  one  history  more  of  this  horse,  which  I 
bought  of  my  cousin  Fowler  of  the  grange,  because  it 
is  memorable.  I  was  passing  over  a  bridge  not  far 
from  Colebrook,  which  had  no  barrier  on  the  one  side, 
and  a  hole  in  the  bridge  not  far  from  the  middle,  my 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  97 

horse,  though  histy  yet  heing  very  timorous,  and  seeing 
besides  but  very  little  on  the  right  eye,  started  so  much 
at  the  hole,  that  upon  a  sudden  he  had  put  half  his 
body  lengthwise  over  the  side  of  the  bridge,  and  was 
ready  to  fall  into  the  river,  with  his  forefoot  and  hinder 
foot  on  the  right  side,  when  I,  foreseeing  the  danger  I 
was  in  if  I  fell  down,  clapped  my  left  foot  together  M'ith 
the  stirrup  and  spur  flat-long  to  the  left  side,  and  so 
made  him  leap  upon  all  four  into  the  river,  whence 
after  some  three  or  four  plunges  he  brought  me  to 
land. 

The  year  1G14  was  now  entering,  when  I  understood 
that  the  Low  Country  and  Spanish  army  would  be  in 
the  field  that  year  ;  this  made  me  resolve  to  offer  my 
service  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  ujiou  my  coming 
did  much  welcome  me,  not  suttering  me  almost  to  eat 
anywhere  but  at  his  table,  and  carrying  me  abroad  the 
afternoon  in  his  coach  to  partake  of  those  entertain- 
ments he  delighted  in  when  there  was  no  pressing 
occasion.  The  Low  Country  amny  being  now  ready, 
his  excellency  prepared  to  go  into  the  field ;  in  the 
way  to  M'hich  he  took  me  in  his  coach,  and  sometimes 
in  a  wagon  after  the  Low  Country  fashion,  to  the  great 
envy  of  the  English  and  French  chief  commanders 
who  expected  that  honor.  Being  now  arrived  near 
Emerick,  one  with  a  most  humble  petition  came  from 
a  monastery  of  nuns,  most  humbly  desiring  that  the 
soldiers  might 'not  violate  their  lionor  nor  their  monas- 
tery, whereupon  I  Avas  a  most  humble  suitor  to  his  ex- 
cellency to  spare  them,  which  he  granted ;  "  but,"  said 
he,  "  we  will  go  and  see  them  ourselves  ";  and  thus  his 
excellency,  and  I  and  Sir  Charles  Morgan  only,  not 
long  after  going  to  the  monastery,  fomid  it  deserted  in 
great  part.     Having  put  a  guard  upon  this  monastery, 


98  THE   LIFE   OF 

his  excellency  marclied  AA-ith  his  anny  on  until  we  came 
near  the  city  of  Einerick,  which,  upon  siunmoning, 
yielded  ;  and  now  leaving  a  garrison  here,  wa  resolved 
to  march  beyond  Eice;  *  tliis  jilace  having  tlic  Sjianish 
army  under  tlie  command  of  ]\Iousieur  S^iinola  on  the 
one  side,  and  the  Low  Country  army  on  the  other, 
being  able  to  resist  neither,  sent  word  to  both  armies, 
that  whichsoever  came  first  should  have  the  place. 
Spinola  hereujjon  sent  word  to  his  excellency  that,  if 
we  intended  to  take  Eice,  he  would  give  him  battle 
in  a  plain  nea  rbefore  the  town.  His  excellency,  noth- 
ing astonished  hereat,  marched  on,  his  jiioneers  making 
his  way  for  the  army  still,  through  iiedges  and  ditches, 
imtil  he  came  to  that  hedge  and  ditch  which  was  next 
the  plain;  and  here,  drawing  his  men  into  battle, 
resolved  to  attend  the  coming  c;f  Spiu(-la  into  the  field; 
Avhile  his  men  were  putting  in  order,  I  was  so  desirous 
to  see  whether  Spinola  with  his  army  appeared,  I 
leaped  over  a  great  hedge  and  ditch,  attended  only 
M'ith  one  footman,  purposing  to  change  a  pistol-shot 
or  two  with  the  first  I  met.  I  found  thus  some  single 
horse  in  the  field,  who,  perceiving  me  to  come  on,  rode 
away  as  fast  as  they  could,  believiug  perchance  that 
more  would  follow  me ;  having  thus  passed  to  the  fur- 
ther end  of  the  field,  and  finding  no  show  of  the  enemy, 
I  returned  l)ack  tliat  I  might  inform  his  excellency 
there  was  no  hope  of  fighting  as  I  could  perceive.  In 
the  mean  time  his  excellency,  ha\dng  prepared  all 
things  for  battle,  sent  out  five  or  six  scouts  to  discover 
whether  the  enemy  were  come  according  to  promise; 
these  men,  finding  me  now  coming  towards  them, 
thought  I  was  one  of  the  enemies,  which  being  per- 
ceived by  me,  and  I  as  little  knowing  at  that  time 

*  Rees,  iu  the  Pucliy  of  Cleves  near  Emevick. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  09 

who  they  wero,  rode  up  with  my  sword  in  my  hand, 
and  pistol,  to  encounter  them  ;  aud  nt>w  being  come 
within  reasonahle  distance,  one  f)f  the  persons  there 
that  knew  me  tokl  liis  fellows  who  I  was,  whereupon 
I  passed  quietly  to  his  excellency  and  t(dd  him  what  I 
had  done,  and  that  I  found  no  appearance  of  an  army ; 
his  excellency  then  caused  the  hedge  and  ditch  before 
him  to  be  levelled,  and  marched  in  front  with  his  army 
into  the  middle  of  the  field,  from  whence,  sending 
some  of  his  forces  to  summon  the  town,  it  yielded 
without  resistance. 

Our  army  made  that  haste  to  come  to  the  place  ap- 
pointed for  the  battle,  that  all  our  baggage  and  pro- 
vision were  left  behind,  insomuch  that  I  was  without 
any  meat  but  what  my  footman  spared  me  out  oi"  liis 
pocket ;  and  my  lodging  that  night  was  no  better,  for 
extreme  rain  falling  at  that  time  in  the  open  field,  I 
had  no  shelter,  but  was  glad  to  get  on  the  top  of  a 
wagon  which  had  straw  in  it,  and  to  cover  myself 
with  my  cloak  as  well  as  I  could,  and  so  endure  that 
stormy  night.  INIorning  being  come,  and  no  enemy 
appearing,  I  went  to  the  town  of  Kice,  into  which  his 
excellency,  having  now  put  a  garrison,  marclied  on 
with  the  rest  of  his  army  towards  AVezel,  before  which 
Spinola  with  his  army  lay,  and  in  the  way  intrenched 
himself  strongly,  and  attended  Spinola's  motions.  For 
the  rest,  nothing  memorable  happened  after  tliis,  be- 
twixt those  two  great  generals,  for  the  sjiace  of  many 
weeks. 

I  must  yet  not  omit  with  thankfulness  to  remember 
a  favor  his  exccdlency  did  me  at  this  time  :  for  a  soldier 
having  killed  his  fellow-soldier,  in  tlic  (piarter  wliere 
they  were  lodged,  wliich  is  an  unpardonable  fault,  in- 
somuch that  no  man  would  speak  for  him,  the  poor 


100  THE   LIFE   OF 

fellow  comes  to  me  and  desires  me  to  beg  his  life  of 
liis  excellency,  whereupon  I  demanding  whether  he 
had  ever  heard  of  a  man  pardoned  in  this  kind,  and  he 
saying  no,  I  told  hiui  it  was  in  vain  then  for  me  to 
speak ;  when  the  poor  fellow,  writhing  his  neck  a  httle, 
said,  "  Sir,  hut  were  it  not  better  you  shall  cast  away  a 
few  words,  than  I  lose  my  life"?"  This  piece  of  ehi- 
quenee  moved  me  so  much  that  I  went  straight  to  his 
excellency,  and  told  him  what  the  poor  fellow  had  said, 
desiring  him  to  excuse  me  if  ujion  these  tenns  I  took 
the  boldness  to  speak  for  him.  There  was  present  at 
that  time  the  Earl  of  Southampton,*  as  also  Sir  Ed- 
ward Cecil,  and  Sir  Horace  Vere,  as  also  Monsieur  de 
Chastillon,  and  divers  other  French  commanders;  to 
whom  his  excellency,  turning  himself,  said  in  French, 
"Do  you  see  this  cavalier?  With  all  that  courage  you 
know,  hath  yet  that  good  nature  to  pray  for  the  life  of 
a  poor  soldier :  though  I  had  never  pardoned  any  before 
in  this  kind,  yet  I  M'ill  i)ardon  this  at  his  request"  :  so 
commanding  him  to  be  brought  me,  and  disposed  of  as 
I  thought  iit,  whom  therefore  I  released  and  set  free. 

It  was  now  so  far  advanced  in  autumn,  both  armies 
thought  of  retiring  themselves  into  their  gamsons,  when 
a  trumjieter  comes  into  the  Spanish  army  to  ours,  witli 
a  challenge  from  a  Spanish  cavalier  to  this  eflect,  that 
if  any  cavalier  in  our  army  would  fight  a  single  combat 
for  the  sake  of  his  mistress,  the  said  Sjianiard  would 
meet  him,  upon  assurance  of  the  camp  in  our  army. 
This  challenge,  being  brought  early  in  the  morning,  was 
accepted  by  nobody  till  altout  ten  or  eleven  of  the  clock, 
when  the  report  thereof  coming  to  me,  I  went  straight 

*  Henry  Wiiotlicsley,  third  Earl  of  Soutliampton.  He  had  been  at- 
tainted with  the  Kail  (if  Essex,  but  was  restored  by  King  James  aud 
juade  Kui[lit  of  the  Garter. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  101 

to  his  excellency,  and  told  him  I  desired  to  accept  the 
challenge.  His  excellency  thereupon,  looking  earnestly 
upon  me,  told  me  he  was  an  old  .s(ddier,  and  that  he 
had  observed  two  sorts  of  men  who  used  to  send  chal- 
lenges in  this  kind.  One  was,  of  those  who,  having  lost 
perchance  some  part  of  their  honor  in  the  field  against 
the  enemy,  would  recover  it  again  by  a  single  fight. 
The  other  was,  of  those  who  sent  it  only  to  discover 
whether  our  army  had  in  it  men  aff"ected  to  give  trial 
of  tliemselves  in  tliis  kind ;  howbeit,  if  this  man  was 
a  person  without  exception  to  be  taken  against  him, 
he  said  there  was  none  he  knew  upon  whom  he  would 
sooner  venture  the  honor  of  his  army  than  myself; 
and  this  also  he  spoke  before  divers  of  the  Englisli  and 
French  commanders  I  formerly  nominated.  Hereupon, 
by  his  excellency's  permission,  I  sent  a  trumpet  to  the 
Spanish  army  with  this  answer,  that  if  the  person  who 
would  be  sent  were  a  cavalier  without  reproach,  I 
would  answer  him  with  such  weapons  as  we  should 
agree  upon,  in  the  place  he  offered  ;  but  my  trumpeter 
was  scarcely  arrived,  as  I  believe,  at  the  Spanish  army 
when  another  trumpeter  came  to  ours  from  Spinola, 
saying  the  challenge  was  made  without  his  consent, 
and  that  therefore  he  would  not  permit  it.  This  mes- 
sage being  brought  to  his  excellency,  with  ^^-hom  I  then 
was,  he  said  to  me  presently,  "This  is  strange;  they 
send  a  challenge  hither,  and  when  they  have  d<me, 
recall  it.  I  should  be  glad  if  I  knew  the  true  causes 
of  it."  "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  I  Avill 
go  to  their  army  and  make  the  liJce  challenge  as  they 
sent  hither ;  it  may  be  some  scrujile  is  made  concern- 
ing the  phice  apjiointcd,  being  in  your  excellency's 
camp,  and  therefore  I  shall  oiler  tlieiii  tlu;  combat  in 
their  own."    His  excellency  said,  ''  I  should  never  have 

UNTVER<=5T'T-v  OF  CALIFORJ^ 


102  THE   LIFE   OF 

persuaded  you  to  this  course,  but  since  you  voluntarily 
offer  it,  I  must  not  deny  that  which  you  think  to  be  for 
your  honor."  Hereupon,  taking  my  leave  of  him,  and 
desiring  Sir  Humphrey  Tufton,*  a  brave  gentleman,  to 
bear  me  company,  thus  we  too,  attended  only  with  two 
lackeys,  rode  straight  towards  the  Spanish  camp  before 
Wezel ;  coming  thither  without  any  disturbance,  by 
the  way,  I  was  demanded  by  the  guard,  at  tlie  entering 
into  their  camp,  with  whom  I  would  speak.  I  told  them 
with  the  Duke  of  Newbourg, 'whereupon  a  soldier  was 
presently  sent  with  us  to  conduct  us  to  the  Duke  of 
Newbourg's  tent,  who,  remembering  me  well,  since  he 
saw  me  at  the  siege  of  Juliers,  very  kindly  embraced 
me  ;  and  therewithal  demanding  the  cause  of  my  coming 
thither,  I  told  him  the  eifect  thereof  in  the  manner  I 
formerly  set  doAvn  ;  to  which  he  replied  only,  he  would 
acquaint  the  Marquis  Spinola  therewith,  who  coining 
shortly  after  to  the  Duke  of  Newbourg's  tent,  with  a 
great  train  of  commanders  and  captains  following  him, 
he  no  sooner  entered,  but  he  turned  to  me  and  said 
that  he  knew  well  the  cause  of  my  coming,  and  that 
the  same  reasons  which  made  him  forbid  the  S]ianish 
cavalier  to  fight  a  combat  in  the  Prince  of  Orange's 
camp  did  make  him  forbid  it  in  his,  and  that  I  should 
be  better  welcome  to  him  than  I  would  be,  and  there- 
upon entreated  me  to  come  and  dine  with  him.  I,  find- 
ing notliing  else  to  be  done,  did  kincUy  accept  the  offer, 
and  so  attended  him  to  his  tent,  where  a  brave  dinner 
being  put  upon  his  table,  he  placed  the  Duke  of  Ncw- 
bourg  uppermost  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  myself 
at  the  other,  himself  sitting  below  us,  presenting  with 
his  own  hand  still  the  best  of  that  meat  his  carver 
offered  him.     He  demanded  of  me  then  in  Italian,  "  Di 

*  Third  son  of  Sir  John  Tufton,  and  brother  of  Nicholas  Earl  of  Thanct. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  103 

che  moriva  Signor  Francesco  Yere?"  —  "Of  what  died 
Sir  Francis  Vere  f  "  I  told  him, ' '  Per  aver  niente  a  fare," 
— ^'  Because  he  had  nothing  to  do."  Spinola  rephed, 
''  E  basta  per  vta  Generale,"  —  "And  it  is  enough  to  kill 
a  general";  and  indeed  that  brave  commander,  Sir 
Francis  Yere,  died  not  in  time  of  war  but  of  peace. 

Taking  my  leave  now  of  the  Marquis  Spinola,  I  told 
Mm  that  if  ever  he  did  lead  an  anny  against  the  infidels, 
I  should  adventure  to  be  the  first  man  that  would  die 
in  that  quarrel,  and  together  demanded  leave  of  him  to 
see  his  anny,  which  he  granting,  I  took  leave  of  hhn, 
and  did  at  leisure  view  it ;  obser\ing  the  difference  in 
the  proceedings  bet^vixt  the  Low  Country  anny  and 
fortifications  as  well  as  I  could;  and  so,  returning 
shortly  after  to  his  excellency,  related  to  him  the  suc- 
cess of  my  journey.  It  happened  about  this  time  that 
Sir  Henry  AYotton  mediated  a  peace  by  the  king's  com- 
mand, who  coming  for  that  purpose  to  \Yezel,  I  took 
occasion  to  go  along  with  him  into  Spinola's  army, 
whence,  after  a  night's  stay,  I  went  on  an  extreme 
rainy  day  through  the  woods  to  Kysarswert,  to  the 
great  wonder  of  mine  host,  who  said  all  men  were 
robbed  or  killed  that  went  that  way  ;  from  hence  I 
went  to  CulUn,*  where  among  other  things  I  saw  the 
monastery  of  St.  Herbert  ;  from  hence  I  went  to  Heidel- 
berg, where  I  saw  the  Prince  and  Princess  Palatine, 
fi-om  whom,  having  received  much  good  usage,  I  went 
to  Ulm,  and  so  to  Augsburg,  where  cxtraorchnary  hduor 
was  done  me,  for  coming  into  an  inn  where  an  ambas- 
sador from  Brussels  lay,  the  town  sent  twenty  great 
iiagons  of  wine  thither,  whereof  they  gave  eleven  to 
the  ambassador,  and  nine  to  me:  and  withal  some 
such  compliments  that  I  found  my  fame  had  preventedf 

♦  Cologne. 

t  " Prevented,"  in  modern  acceptation,  "preceded."' 


104  THE   LIFE    OF 

)ny  coming  thither.  From  hence  I  went  through 
Switzerland  to  Trent,  and  from  thence  to  Venice, 
where  I  was  received  hy  the  Euglisli  ambassador,  Sir 
Dudley  Carlton,*  with  much  honor;  among  other 
favors  showed  me,  I  was  brought  to  see  a  nun  in  Mu- 
rano,  who  heing  an  admirable  beauty,  and  together 
singing  extremely  well,  who  was  thonght  one  of  the 
rarities  not  only  of  that  place  but  of  the  time.  We 
came  to  a  room  opposite  unto  the  cloister,  whence  she, 
coming  on  the  otlier  side  of  tlie  grate  betwixt  us,  sung 
so  extremely  well  that  when  she  dei)ai-ted,  neither  my 
lord  ambassador  nor  his  lady,  who  were  then  present, 
could  find  as  nuich  as  a  word  of  fitting  language  to 
return  her  for  the  extraordinary  music  she  gave  us; 
when  I,  being  ashamed  that  she  should  go  back  with- 
out some  testimony  of  the  sense  we  had  both  of  the 
harmony  of  her  beauty  and  her  voice,  said  in  Italian, 
"  Moria  pur  quando  vuol,  non  bisogna  mutar  ni  voce 
ni  facia  per  esser  un  angelo,"  —  "  Die  whensoever  you 
will,  you  neither  need  to  change  voice  nor  face  to  be  an 
angel."  These  words,  it  seemed,  were  ftital,  for  going 
thence  to  Rome,  and  returning  shortly  afterwards,  I 
heard  she  was  dead  in  the  mean  time. 

From  Venice  after  some  stay  I  went  to  Florence, 
where  I  met  the  Earl  of  Oxfordf  and  Sir  Benjamin 
Iludier:t  having  seen  the  rarities  of  this  place  likewise, 
and  particularly  that  rare  chapel  made  for  the  house  of 

*  Ambassador  to  Venice,  Savoy,  and  Holland,  Secretary  of  State,  and 
Viscount  Dorchester. 

i  Henry  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford.  He  died  at  the  Haeue  in  162.5,  of  a 
sickness  contracted  at  the  siege  of  Breda,  where,  being  a  very  corpulent 
man,  he  had  overheated  himself. 

}  Sir  Benjamin  Rudyard  was  a  man  in  great  vogue  in  that  age,  a  wit, 
and  poet,  and  inlimate  friend  of  William  Earl  of  Pembroke,  with  whose 
poems  Sir  Benjamin's  are  printed. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  105 

Medici,  beautified  on  all  the  inside  with  a  coarser  kind 
of  precious  stone,  as  also  that  nail  which  was  at  one 
end  iron,  and  the  other  gold,  made  so  by  virtue  of  a 
tincture  into  which  it  was  put.  I  went  to  Siena,  and 
from  thence,  a  little  before  the  Christmas  hohdays,  to 
Rome.  I  was  no  sooner  alighted  at  my  inn,  Init  I  went 
straight  to  the  English  college,  where,  demanding  for 
the  regent  or  inaster  thereof,  a  grave  person  not  long 
after  appeared  at  the  door,  to  whom  l  spake  in  this 
manner:  "Sir,  I  need  not  tell  you  my  country  when 
you  hear  my  language ;  I  come  not  here  to  study  con- 
troversies, but  to  see  the  antiquities  of  the  place ;  if 
without  scandal  to  the  religion  in  which  I  was  born 
and  bred  up,  I  may  talve  this  liberty,  I  should'  be  glad 
to  spend  some  convenient  time  here ;  if  not,  my  horse 
is  yet  unsaddled,  and  myself  willing  to  go  out  of  the 
town."  The  answer  returned  by  him  to  me  was,  that 
he  never  heard  anybody  before  me  profess  himself 
of  any  other  religion  than  what  was  used  in  Rome; 
for  his  part,  he  ajiproved  much  my  freedom,  as  collect- 
ing thereby  I  was  a  person  of  honor ;  for  the  rest,  that 
he  could  give  me  no  wan-ant  for  my  stay  there,  how- 
beit  that  experience  did  teach  that  tliose  men  who 
gave  no  affronts  t(t  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  re- 
ceived none ;  wliereupon  also  he  demanded  my  name. 
I  teUing  him  I  was  called  Sir  Edward  Herbert,  he 
replied  that  he  had  heard  men  oftentimes  speak  of  me 
both  for  learning  and  courage,  and  presently  invited 
me  to  dinner.  I  told  him  that  I  took  his  courteous 
offer  as  an  argument  of  his  affection ;  that  I  desired 
him  to  excuse  me  if  I  did  not  accept  it;  the  uttermost 
liberty  I  had  (as  the  times  then  were  in  England) 
being  already  taken  in  coming  to  that  city  only,  lest 
they  should  think  me  a  factious  person ;  I  thought  tit 


106  THE   LIFE   OF 

to  tell  him  that  I  conceived  the  points  agreed  upon  on 
both  sides  are  greater  bonds  of  amity  betwixt  us,  than 
that  tlie  points  disagreed  on  could  break  them  ;  that, 
for  my  part,  T  loved  everyl)ody  that  was  of  a  pious 
and  virtuous  life,  and  thought  the  errors  on  what  side 
soever  were  more  worthy  pity  than  hate ;  and  hav- 
ing declared  myself  thus  far,  I  took  my  leave  of  him 
courtef)Usly,  and  spent  about  a  month's  time  in  seeing 
the  anticpiities  of  that  place,  which  first  found  means 
to  establish  so  great  an  empire  over  the  persons  of 
men,  and  afterwards  over  their  consciences  :  the  articles 
of  confession  and  absolving  sinners  being  a  gi'cater 
Arcanum  Imperii  for  governing  the  world,  than  all 
the  arts  invented  by  statists  formerly  were. 

After  I  had  seen  Rome  sufficiently,  I  went  to  Tivoli, 
anciently  called  Tibur,  and  saw  the  fair  palace  and 
garden  there,  as  also  Frascati,  anciently  called  Tuscu- 
lanum;  after  that,  I  returned  to  Koine,  and  saw  the 
Pope  in  consistory,  which  being  done,  when  the  Pope 
being  now  ready  to  give  his  blessing,  I  dci^ailed  thence 
suddenly,  which  gave  such  a  suspicion  of  me,  that 
some  were  sent  to  apprehend  me,  but  I  going  a  by- 
way escaped  them,  and  went  to  my  inn  to  take  horse, 
where  I  had  not  been  now  half  an  hour,  when  the  mas- 
ter or  regent  of  the  English  college  telling  me  that  I 
Avas  accused  in  the  hiquisition,  and  that  I  could  stay 
no  longer  with  any  safety,  I  took  this  warning  very 
kindly^  howbeit  I  did  only  for  the  present  change  my 
lodging,  and  a  day  or  two  aftenvards  tf)ok  horse  and 
went  out  of  Rome  towards  Siena,  and  from  thence  to 
Florence. 

After  I  had  stayed  awhile,  fi-om  hence  I  went  by 
FeiTara  and  Bologna  towards  Padua,  in  which  univer- 
sity having  spent  some  time  to  hear  the  learned  readers, 


EDWAED   LORD   HERBERT.  107 

nnd  particularly  Creinonini,  I  left  my  English  horses 
and  Scotch  saddles  there,  for  on  them  I  rode  all  the  way 
from  the  Low  Countries.  I  went  hy  hoat  to  Venice : 
the  Lord  Ambassador,  Sir  Dudley  Carlton,  by  this  time 
had  a  command  to  reside  awhile  in  the  court  of  the 
Duke  of  Savoy,  wherewith  also  his  lordship  acquainted 
me,  demanding  whetlier  I  would  go  tliitlier;  this  offer 
was  gladly  accepted  hy  me,  hotli  as  I  was  desirous  to 
see  that  court,  and  that  it  was  in  the  way  to  the  Low 
Country,  where  I  meant  to  see  the  war  the  suuuner 
ensuing. 

Coming  thus  in  the  coach  with  my  lord  ambassador 
to  Milan,  the  governor  thereof  invited  my  lord  ambas- 
sador to  his  house,  and  sometimes  feasted  him  during 
his  stay  there :  here  I  heard  that  famous  nun  singing 
to  the  organ  in  this  manner ;  another  nun  beginning 
first  to  sing,  performed  her  part  so  well  that  we  gave 
her  mucli  applause  for  her  excellent  art  and  voice; 
only  we  thought  she  did  sing  somewhat  lower  than 
other  women  usually  did ;  hereupon  also,  being  ready 
to  depart,  we  heard  suddenly,  for  we  saw  nobody, 
that  nun  which  was  so  famous,  sing  an  eight  higher 
than  the  other  had  done ;  her  voice  was  the  sweetest, 
strongest,  and  clearest  that  ever  I  heard,  in  the  using 
wheret)f  also  she  showed  that  art  as  ravished  us  into 
admiration. 

From  Milan  we  went  to  Novara,  as  I  remember, 
where  we  were  entertained  by  the  governor,  being  a 
Spaniard,  with  one  of  the  most  sumptuous  feasts  that 
ever  I  saw,  being  but  of  nine  dishes,  in  three  several 
services;  the  first  wh(»reof  was  three  ollas  podridas 
consisting  of  all  choice  boik'd  meats,  placed  in  three 
large  silver  chargers,  whicli  took  up  the  length  oi  a 
great  table  ;  the  meat  in  it  being  heightened  up  arti- 


108  THE   LIFE   OF 

ficially,  pyramid  wise,  to  a  spaiTow,  which  was  on  the 
top :  the  second  service  was  Hke  the  former,  of  roast 
meat,  in  which  all  manner  of  fowl,  from  the  pheasant 
and  partridge,  to  other  fowl  less  than  them,  were 
heightened  up  to  a  lark  :  the  third  Avas  in  sweet- 
meats dry  of  all  sorts,  heightened  in  like  manner  to  a 
round  comfit. 

From  hence  we  went  to  Vercelly,  a  town  of  the  Duke 
of  Savoy's,  frontier  to  the  Spaniard,  with  whom  the 
duke  was  then  in  war ;  from  whence,  passing  by  places 
of  least  note,  we  came  to  Turin,  where  the  Duke  of 
Savoy's  court  was.  After  I  had  refi'eshed  myself  here 
some  two  or  three  days,  I  took  leave  of  my  lord  ambas- 
sador with  intention  to  go  to  the  Low  Countries,  and 
was  now  upon  the  way  thither,  as  far  as  the  foot  of 
Mount  Cenis,  when  the  Count  Scamafigi  came  to  me 
from  the  duke  *  and  brought  a  letter  to  this  effect ; 
that  the  duke  had  heard  I  was  a  cavalier  of  great 
worth,  and  desirous  to  see  the  wars,  and  that  if  I  would 
sei've  him  I  should  make  my  own  conditions :  finding 
so  courteous  an  invitation,  I  returned  back,  and  was 
lodged  by  the  Duke  of  Savoy  in  a  chamber  furnished 
with  silk  and  gold  hangings,  and  a  very  rich  bed,  and 
defrayed  at  the  duke's  charges,  in  the  English  ambas- 
sador's house.  The  duke  also  confirmed  unto  me  what 
the  Count  Scaniafigi  had  said,  and  together  bestowed 
divers  compliments  on  me.  I  told  his  highness  that 
when  I  knew  in  what  service  he  pleased  to  employ  me, 
he  should  find  me  ready  to  testify  the  sense  I  had  of 
his  princely  invitation. 

It  was  now  in  the  time  of  Carnival,  when  the  duke, 
who  loved  the  company  of  ladies  and  dancing  as  much 
as  any  prince  whosoever,  made  divers  masks  and  balls, 

*  Ciiailcs  Eiuauuul. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  109 

in  which  liis  own  daughters  among  divers  other  ladies 
danced ;  and  here  it  was  liis  manner  to  place  me  always 
with  his  own  liand  near  some  fair  lady,  wishing  us 
both  to  entertain  each  other  witli  some  discourse, 
which  was  a  great  fiivor  am.ong  the  Italians ;  he  did 
many  other  ways  also  declare  the  great  esteem  he  had 
of  me  without  coming  to  any  particular,  the  time  of 
the  year  for  going  into  the  field  being  not  yet  come ; 
only  he  exercised  his  men  often,  and  made  them  ready 
for  his  occasions  in  the  spring. 

The  duke,  at  last  resolving  how  to  use  my  service, 
thought  fit  to  send  me  to  Languedoc  in  France,  to  con- 
duct four  thousand  men  of  the  reformed  religion  (who  had 
promised  their  assistance  in  his  w^ar)  unto  Piedmont. 
I  willingly  accepted  this  ofier ;  so  taking  my  leave  of 
the  duke,  and  bestowing  about  seventy  or  eighty  pounds 
among  his  officers,  for  the  kind  entertainment  I  had  re- 
ceived, I  took  my  leave  also  of  my  lord  ambassador, 
and  Sir  AlV)ertus  Moreton,  who  was  likewise  employed 
there,  and  prepared  for  my  journey,  for  more  expedi- 
tion of  which  I  was  desired  to  go  post.  An  old  Scotch 
knight  of  the  Sandelands,  hearing  this,  desired  to  bor- 
row my  horses  as  far  as  Heidelberg,  which  I  granted 
on  condition  that  he  would  use  them  well  by  the  way, 
and  give  them  good  keejiing  in  that  jdace  afterwards. 

The  Count  Scamafigi  was  commanded  to  bear  me 
company  in  this  journey,  and  to  carry  with  him  some 
jewels,  which  he  was  to  pawn  in  Lyons  in  France,  and 
witli  the  money  gotten  for  thein  to  pay  the  soldiers 
above  nominated ;  for  though  tlie  duke  had  put  ex- 
treme taxations  on  his  people,  insomuch  that  they  paid 
not  only  a  certain  sum  for  every  horse,  ox,  cow,  or 
sheep  that  tliey  kejtt,  but  afterwards  far  every  diimney, 
and    finally  every  single  person   by   the   poll,  which 


110  THE   LIFE   OF 

amounted  to  a  pistole,  or  fourteen  sliillings,  a  head  or 
person,  yet  he  wanted  money:  at  which  I  did  not  so 
much  wonder  as  at  the  patience  of  his  suhjects;  of 
whom  I  demanded  how  tliey  could  hear  their  taxa- 
tions. I  have  heard  some  of  them  answer,  "  We 
are  not  so  much  offended  with  the  duke  for  what  he 
takes  from  us,  as  thankful  for  what  he  leaves  us." 

The  Count  Scaniafigi  and  I,  now  setting  forth,  rode 
post  all  day  without  eating  or  drinking  hy  the  way,  the 
count  telling  me  still  we  should  come  to  a  good  inn  at 
night.  It  was  now  twilight  when  the  count  and  I 
came  near  a  solitary  inn,  on  the  top  of  a  mountain. 
The  hostess,  hearing  the  noise  of  horses,  came  out,  with 
a  cliild  new  horn  on  her  left  arm,  and  a  rush  candle  in 
her  hand  ;  she  presently,  knowing  the  Count  de  Scama- 
iigi,  told  him,  '■'■  Ah,  signor,  you  are  come  in  a  very  ill 
time ;  the  duke's  soldiers  have  been  here  to-day,  and 
have  left  me  nothing."  I  looked  sadly  upon  the  count, 
when  lie,  coming  near  to  me,  whispered  me  in  the  ear, 
and  said,  ''It  may  he  she  thinks  Ave  will  use  her  as  the 
soldiers  have  done  :  go  you  into  the  house,  and  see 
whether  you  can  find  anything;  I  will  go  round  about 
the  house,  and  perhaps  I  shall  meet  with  some  duck, 
hen,  or  chicken."  Entering  thus  into  the  house,  I 
found,  for  all  other  furniture  of  it,  the  end  of  an  old  form, 
npon  which  sitting  do^ra,  the  hostess  came  towards  me 
with  a  rush  candle,  and  said,  "  I  protest  before  God 
that  it  is  true  which  I  told  the  count,  here  is  nothing 
to  eat;  but  you  are  a  gentleman,  methinks  it  is  pity 
you  should  want ;  if  you  please,  I  will  give  you  some 
millc  out  of  my  breasts,  into  a  wooden  dish  I  have 
here."  This  unexpected  kindness  made  that  impression 
on  me,  that  I  remember  I  Avas  never  so  tenderly  sen- 
sible  of    anything;    my  answer  was,  *'God  forbid  I 


EDWAED   LORD   IIEEBERT.  Ill 

should  take  away  the  milk  from  the  c^hild  I  see  in  thy 
arms,  howbeit  I  shall  take  it  all  my  life  for  the  greatest 
piece  of  charity  that  ever  I  heard  of."  And  therewithal 
giving  her  a  pistole,  or  a  piece  of  gold  of  fourteen 
shillings,  Scarnafigi  and  I  got  on  horseback  again  and 
rode  another  post,  and  came  to  an  inn  where  we  found 
very  coai-se  cheer,  yet  hunger  made  us  relish  it. 

In  this  journey  I  remember  I  went  over  Mount 
Gabelet  by  night,  being  carried  down  that  precipice  in 
a  chair,  a  guide  that  went  before  bringing  a  bottle  of 
straw  with  liim,  and  kindling  pieces  of  it  from  time  to 
tune,  that  we  might  see  our  way.  Being  at  the  bottom 
of  a  hill,  I  got  on  horseback  and  rode  to  13urgundy,  re- 
solving to  rest  there  awhile  ;  and  the  rather  (to  speak 
truly)  that  I  had  heard  divers  say,  and  particularly  Sir 
John  Finnet*  and  Sir  Kichard  Newport,!  that  the  host's 
daughter  there  was  the  handsomest  woman  that  ever 
they  saw  in  their  lives.  Coming  to  the  inn,  the  Count 
Scarnafigi  wished  me  to  rest  two  or  three  hours,  and  he 
would  go  before  to  Lyons  to  prepare  business  fir  my 
journey  to  Languedoc.  The  host's  daughter  being  not 
within,  I  told  her  father  and  mother  that  I  desired  only 
to  see  their  daughter,  as  having  heard  her  spoken  of  in 
England  with  so  much  advantage,  that  divers  told  me 
they  thought  her  the  handsomest  creature  that  ever  they 
saw.  They  answered  she  was  gone  to  a  marriage,  and 
should  be  presently  sent  for,  wishing  me  in  the  mean 
while  to  take  some  rest  upon  a  bed,  for  they  saw  I 
needed  it.  AVaking  now  about  tM^o  liours  after\\^ards,  I 
found  her  sitthig  by  me,  attending  Avlien  I  W(iulil  o\>vn 
mine  eyes.  I  shall  touch  a  litth^  of  lier  description; 
her  hair,  being  of  a  shining  black,  was  naturally  curled 

*  Master  (jf  tlio  Ccrcuiouics. 

+  Aftciwaidd  created  a  baion,  and  ancestor  of  tlie  Earls  of  Bradford. 


112  THE   LIFE   OF 

in  that  oi'der  that  a  curious  woman  would  have  dressed 
it,  for  one  curl  rising  by  degrees  above  another,  and 
every  bout  tied  with  a  small  ribbon  of  a  naccarine,  or 
the  color  that  the  Kniglits  of  the  Bath  wear,  gave  a 
very  graceful  mixture,  while  it  was  bound  u])  in  this 
manner  from  the  point  of  her  shoulder  to  the  crown  of 
lier  liead ;  her  eyes,  which  were  round  and  black,  seemed 
to  be  models  of  her  whole  beauty,  and  in  some  sort 
of  her  air,  while  a  kind  of  light  or  ilame  came  from 
them,  not  unlike  that  which  the  ribbon  which  tied  up 
her  liair  exhil)ited.  I  do  not  rememl)er  ever  to  have 
seen  a  prettier  mouth  or  whiter  teeth ;  briefly,  all  her 
outward  parts  seemed  to  become  each  other,  neither 
was  there  anything  that  could  be  misliked,  unless  one 
should  say  her  complexion  was  too  brown,  which,  yet 
from  the  shadow,  was  heightened  with  a  good  blood  in 
her  cheeks.  Her  gown  was  a  green  Turkey  grogram, 
cut  all  into  panes  or  slashes,  from  the  shoulder  and 
sleeves  unto  tlie  foot,  and  tied  up  at  the  distance  of 
about  a  hand's-breadth  everywhere  with  the  same  rib- 
bon \^'ith  wliich  her  hair  was  bound  ;  so  that  her  attire 
seemed  as  bizarre  as  her  person.  I  am  too  long  in  de- 
scribing a  host's  daugliter,  howbeit  I  thouglit  1  might 
better  speak  of  her  than  of  divers  other  beauties  held 
to  be  the  best  and  fairest  of  the  time  whom  I  have  often 
seen.  In  conclusion,  after  about  an  hour's  stay,  I  de- 
parted tlience,  without  oflt'ring  so  much  as  the  least  in- 
civility; and  indeed  after  so  much  weariness,  it  was 
enough  that  her  sight  alone  did  somewhat  refresh  me. 
Fi'om  hence  I  went  straight  to  Lyons ;  entering  the 
gate,  the  guards  there,  after  their  usual  manner,  de- 
manded of  me  who  I  was,  whence  I  came,  and  whither 
I  went.  To  which,  while  I  answered,  I  observed  one  of 
them  look  very  attentively  ujwn  me,  and  then  again 


EDWARD    LOUD    HERBERT.  113 

upon  a  paper  lie  had  in  bis  hand  ;  tliis,  having  been 
dtme  divers  times,  bred  in  me  a  suspicion  that  there 
was  no  good  meaning  in  it,  and  I  was  not  deeeivod  in 
my  conjecture  ;  for  the  queen  muther  of  France  having 
newly  made  an  edict  that  no  sokliers  shoukl  be  raised 
in  France,  the  ^Marquis  de  EambouiUet,*  French  ambas- 
sador at  Turin,  sent  word  of  my  enqih)yment  to  the 
Marquis  de  St.  Chaumont,  then  governor  of  Lyons,  as 
also  a  description  of  my  person.  This  edict  was  so 
severe  as  they  who  raised  any  men  were  to  lose  their 
heads.  In  thi?;  unfortunate  conjuncture  of  afl'airs  noth- 
ing fell  out  so  well  on  my  part  as  that  I  had  not 
raised  as  yet  any  men ;  howbeit,  the  guards  requiring 
me  to  come  bekire  the  governor,  I  went  with  them  to  a 
church  where  he  was  at  vespers  ,•  this  wliile  I  walked  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  church,  little  imagining  M'hat 
danger  I  was  in,  had  I  levied  any  men.  I  had  not 
Avalked  there  k)ng,  when  a  single  person  came  to  me 
appareled  in  a  blaclc  stuff  suit,  without  any  attendants 
upon  him,  when  I,  supposing  this  person  to  be  any  man 
rather  than  the  governor,  saluted  liim  without  much 
ceremony.  His  first  question  was,  whence  I  came.  I 
answered  from  Turin.  He  demanded  then,  whither  I 
would  go.  I  answered,  I  was  not  yet  resolved.  His 
third  question  was,  what  news  at  Turin ;  to  which  I 
answered,  that  I  liad  no  news  to  tell,  as  supposing  him 
to  be  only  some  busy  or  inquisitive  person.  The  mar- 
quis Inn-eupon  called  one  of  the  guards  that  conducted 
me  thither,  and  after  he  had  whispered  something  in 
his  ear,  wished  me  to  go  along  with  him,  which  I  did 

*  This  gcnfleiiian,  T  l)eli('ve,  was  liusbaml  of  Madame  de  Raiiiliouilli-I, 
whoso  assemblies  of  tlie  wits  and  poets  were  so  in neli  celeliratcil  in  that 
atre.  They -were  parents  of  the  famous  Julie  d'Angenues,  Uucliess  de 
Montausier,  well  known  by  Voiturc'a  letters  to  lier. 


114  THE   LIFE   OF 

willingly,  as  believing  this  man  would  bring  me  to 
the  goveraor.  This  man  silently  leading  me  out  of  the 
church  brought  mc  to  a  fair  house,  into  which  I  was  no 
sooner  entered,  but  he  told  me  I  was  commanded  to 
prison  there  l)y  him  I  saw  in  the  cliurch,  who  was  the 
governor.  I  replied  I  did  not  know  him  to  be  governor, 
nor  that  that  was  a  prison,  and  that  if  I  were  out  of  it 
again  neither  the  governor  uor  all  the  town  could  bring 
me  to  it  ahve.  The  master  of  the  house  hereupon 
spoke  me  very  fair,  and  told  ine  he  would  conduct  me 
to  a  better  chamlier  than  any  I  could  find  in  an  inn, 
and  thereupon  conducted  me  to  a  very  handsome  lodg- 
ing not  far  from  the  river.  I  had  not  been  here  half  an 
hour  when  Sir  Edward  Sackville,*  now  Earl  f)f  Dorset, 
hearing  only  that  an  Enghshman  was  committed,  sent 
to  kncjw  who  I  was,  and  wliy  I  was  iniprist»ned.  The 
governor,  not  knowing  whether  to  lay  the  fault  upon  my 
short  answers  to  him,  or  my  commission  to  levy  men 
contrary  to  the  queen's  edict,  made  him  so  doubtful  an 
answer,  after  he  had  a  little  touched  upon  both,  as  he 
dismissed  him  unsatisfied. 

8ir  Edward  Sackville,  hereupon  coming  to  the  house 
where  I  was,  as  soon  as  ever  lie  saw  me,  embraced  me, 
saying,  "Ned  Herbert,  what  doest  thou  here?"  I 
answered,  "  Ned  Sackville,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  but 
I  protest  I  know  not  why  I  am  here."  He  again  said, 
"  Hast  thou  raised  any  men  yet  for  the  Duke  of  Sa- 
voy?" I  replied,  "Not  so  much  as  one."  "Then," 
said  he,  "  I  will  warrant  tliee,  although  I  must  tell  thee, 
the  governor  is  mucli  ofl'ended  at  tliy  behavior  and  lan- 
guage in  the  church."  I  replied  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  imagine  him  to  be  governor  that  came  without  a 
guard,  and  in  such  mean  clothes  as  he  then  wore.      "I 

*  Wfll  known  l)y  Ilia  duel  with  the  Lord  Bruce. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  115 

will  go  to  hiin  again,  and  tell  him  what  you  say,  and 
doubt  not  but  you  shall  be  suddenly  freed."  Hereupon 
returning  to  the  governor  he  told  of  what  family  I  was, 
and  of  what  condition,  and  that  I  had  raised  no  men, 
and  that  I  knew  him  not  to  be  governor ;  whereupon 
the  marquis  wished  him  to  go  back,  that  he  would  come 
in  person  to  free  me  out  of  the  house. 

This  message  being  brought  me  by  Sir  Edward  Sack- 
ville,  I  returned  this  answer  only,  that  it  was  enough 
if  he  sent  order  to  free  me.  While  these  messages 
passed,  a  company  of  handsome  young  men  and  women, 
out  of  I  know  not  what  civility,  brought  music  under 
the  window  and  danced  before  me,  looking  often  up  to 
see  me ;  but  Sir  Edward  Sackville  being  now  returned 
with  order  to  free  me,  I  only  gave  them  thanks  out  of 
the  window,  and  so  went  along  with  them  to  the  gov- 
ernor. Being  come  into  a  great  hall,  where  his  lady 
was,  and  a  large  train  of  gentle wonaen  and  other  ])er- 
sons,  the  governor,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  demanded 
t)f  me  whether  I  knew  him.  When  his  noble  lady, 
answering  for  me,  said,  "How  could  he  know  you, 
when  you  were  in  the  church  alone,  and  in  this  habit, 
being  for  the  rest  wholly  a  stranger  to  you  ?  "  Which 
civility  of  hers,  although  I  did  not  presently  take  notice 
of  it,  I  did  afterwards  most  thankfully  acknowledge 
when  I  was  ambassador  in  France.  The  governor's 
next  questions  were  the  very  same  he  made  when  he 
met  me  in  the  church ;  to  which  I  made  the  very  same 
answers  before  them  all,  concluding  that  as  I  did  not 
know  him  he  could  tliinlc  it  no  incongruity  if  I  answered 
in  those  terms :  the  governor  yet  was  not  satisfied  here- 
with, and  his  noble  lady,  taking  my  part  again,  gave 
him  those  reasons  for  my  answering  liim  in  tliat  man- 
ner that  they  silenced  him  from  speaking  any  fartlier. 


116  THE   LIFE   OF 

The  governor  turning  liack,  I  likewi.^e,  after  an  humble 
obeisance  made  to  his  huly,  returned  with  Sir  Edward 
Sackville  to  my  lodgings. 

This  niglit  I  passed  as  quietly  as  I  could,  but  the  next 
morning  advised  with  him  \\lnit  I  was  to  do.  I  told 
him  I  had  received  a  great  affront,  and  that  I  intended 
to  send  him  a  challenge,  in  such  courteous  language 
that  he  could  not  refuse  it.  Sir  Edward  Sackville  by  all 
means  dissuaded  me  ft-om  it ;  by  which  means  I  per- 
ceived I  was  not  t(j  expect  his  assistance  therein,  and, 
indeed,  the  next  day  he  went  out  of  town. 

Being  alone  now,  I  thought  on  nothing  more  than 
how  to  send  him  a  challenge,  which  at  last  I  penned 
to  this  effect;  that  whereas  he  had  given  me  great 
offence  without  a  cause,  I  thought  myself  bound  as  a 
gentleman  to  resent  it,  and  there  fore  desired  to  see 
him  with  his  sword  in  his  hand  in  any  place  he  should 
appoint ;  aiid  hoped  he  would  not  interpose  his  author- 
ity as  an  excuse  for  not  complying  with  his  honor  on 
this  occasion,  and  that  so  I  rested  his  humble  servant. 

Finding  nobody  in  town  for  two  or  three  days,  by 
Avhom  I  might  send  this  challenge,  I  resolved  for  my 
last  means  to  deliver  it  in  persftn,  and  observe  how  he 
took  it,  intending  to  right  myself  as  I  could,  when  I 
found  he  stood  upon  his  authority. 

This  night  it  happened  that  Monsieur  Terant,  for- 
merly mentioned,  came  to  the  town ;  this  gentleman 
knowing  me  well,  and  remembering  our  acquaintance 
both  at  France  and  Juliers,  wished  there  were  some 
occasion  for  him  to  serve  me.  1  presently  hereupon, 
taking  the  challenge  out  of  my  pocket,  told  him  he 
would  oblige  me  extremely  if  he  were  pleased  to 
deliver  it,  and  that  I  hoped  he  might  do  it  without 
danger,  since  I  knew  the  French  to  be  so  brave  a 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  11 


"-r 


nation  that  they  would  never  refuse  or  dislike  any- 
thing that  was  done  in  an  honorable  and  worthy 
way. 

Terant  took  the  challenge  from  me,  and  after  he  had 
read  it,  told  me  that  the  language  was  civil  and  dis- 
creet ;  nevertheless  he  thought  the  governor  would  not 
return  me  that  answer  I  expected ;  howsoever,  said  lie, 
I  will  deliver  it.  Keturniug  thus  to  my  inn,  and  intend- 
ing to  sleep  quieter  that  night  than  I  had  done  three 
nights  before,  about  one  of  the  clock  after  midnight, 
I  heard  a  great  noise  at  my  door  which  awakened  me, 
certain  persons  knocking  so  hard  as  if  they  would 
break  it,  besides  through  the  chinks  thereof  I  saw 
light;  this  made  me  presently  rise  in  my  shirt,  wlien, 
drawing  my  sword,  I  went  to  the  door  and  demanded 
who  they  were ;  and  together  told  them  that  if  they 
came  to  make  me  prisoner,  I  would  rather  die  with  my 
sword  in  my  hand  ;  and  therewithal  opening  the  door, 
I  found  upon  the  stairs  half  a  diizen  men  armed  witli 
halberts,  whom  I  no  sooner  prepared  to  resist  but  the 
chief  of  them  told  me  that  they  came  not  to  me  from 
the  governor,  but  from  my  good  friend  the  Duke  of 
Montmorency,  son  to  the  duke  I  formerly  mentioned, 
and  that  he  came  to  town  late  that  night,  in  his  way 
from  Languedoc  (of  which  he  was  governor)  to  Paris; 
and  that  he  desired  me,  if  I  loved  him,  to  rise  presently 
and  come  to  him,  assuring  me  farther  that  this  was 
most  true;  hereupon  wishing  them  to  n^tire  tliem- 
selves,  I  dressed  myself  and  went  witli  tliem.  They 
conducted  me  to  the  great  hall  of  the  governor,  wliere 
the  Duke  of  Montmorency  and  divers  other  cavaliers 
had  been  dancing  with  the  ladies.  I  went  presently  to 
the  Duke  of  Montmorency,  wlm,  taking  me  a  little 
aside,  told  me  that  he  had  heard  of  the  passages  be- 


118  THE   LIFE   OF 

twixt  the  governor  and  me,  and  that  I  had  sent  him  a 
challenge;  howheit,  that  he  conceived  men  in  liis 
place  were  not  bonnd  to  answer  as  private  persons  for 
those  things  they  did  In-  virtue  of  their  office:  never- 
theless, that  I  sliould  have  satisfaction  in  as  amjjle 
manner  as  I  could  reasonably  desire.  Hereupon  bring- 
ing me  with  him  to  the  governor,  he  freely  told  me 
that  now  he  knew  who  I  was,  he  could  do  no  less  than 
assure  me  that  he  was  sorry  for  what  was  done,  and 
desired  me  to  take  this  for  satisfaction;  the  Duke  of 
]\Iontmorency  hereupon  said  presently,  "  C'est  assez," — 
''  It  is  enough."  I  theu,  turniug  to  him,  demanded 
whether  he  would  have  taken  this  satisfaction  in  the 
like  case.  He  said,  "  Yes."  After  tliis,  turning  to  the 
governor,  I  demanded  the  same  question,  to  which  he 
answered,  that  he  would  have  taken  tlie  same  satis- 
faction, and  less  too.  I,  kissing  my  hand,  gave  it  him, 
who  embraced  me,  and  so  this  business  ended. 

After  some  compliments  passed  between  the  Duke 
of  Montmorency,  who  remembered  the  great  love 
his  father  bore  me,  which  he  desired  to  continue  in 
his  person,  and  putting  me  in  mind  also  of  our  being 
educated  together  for  a  while,  demanded  whether  I 
would  go  with  him  to  Paris.  I  told  him  that  I  was 
engaged  to  tlie  Low  Countries,  hut  that  wheresoever  I 
was,  I  should  lie  his  most  liumble  servant. 

My  employment  with  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  inLangue- 
doc,  being  thus  ended,  I  went  from  Lyons  to  Geneva, 
where  T  found  also  my  fame  had  prevented  my  coming  ; 
for  the  next  morning  after  my  arrival,  the  state  taking 
notic(!  of  me,  sent  a  messenger  in  their  name  to  con- 
gratulate my  being  there,  and  presented  me  with  some 
Hairons  of  wine,  desiriuij^  me,  if  I  stayed  there  any 
while,  to  see  their  fortitications,  and  give  my  opinion 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT.  119 

of  ihem;  which  I  did,  and  told  them  I  thought  they 
were  weakest  where  they  thought  themselves  the 
strongest,  which  was  on  the  hilly  part,  where  indeed 
they  had  made  great  fortitications  ;  yet,  as  it  is  a  rule 
in  war  that  whatsoever  may  be  made  by  art  may  be 
destroyed  by  art  again,  I  conceived  they  had  need  to 
fear  the  approach  of  an  enemy  on  that  part  rather  than 
any  other.  They  replied  that  divers  great  soldiers  had 
told  them  the  same,  and  that  they  would  give  the  best 
order  they  could  to  serve  themselves  on  that  side. 

Having  rested  here  some  while  to  take  physic 
(my  health  being  a  little  broken  with  long  travel),  I 
departed  after  a  fortnight's  stay  to  Basle,  where,  tak- 
ing a  boat  upon  the  river  I  came  at  length  to  Stras- 
bourg, and  from  thence  went  to  Heidelberg,  where 
I  was  received  again  by  the  prince  elector  and  prin- 
cess with  much  kindness,  and  viewed  at  leisure  the 
fair  library  there,  the  gardens,  and  other  rarities  of 
that  place ;  and  here  I  found  my  horses  I  lent  to 
Sandilands  in  good  plight,  wliich  I  then  bestowed 
upon  some  servants  of  the  prince,  in  way  of  retribu- 
tiiiu  for  my  welcome  thither.  From  hence.  Sir  George 
Calvert*  and  myself  went  by  water  for  the  most  part 
to  the  Low  Countries,  where,  taking  leave  of  each 
other,  I  went  straight  to  his  excellency,  who  did  ex- 
traordinarily welcome  me,  insomuch  that  it  was  ob- 
served that  he  did  never  outwardly  make  so  much  of 
any  one  as  myself. 

It  happoneil  this  summer  that  the  Low  Country  army 
was  not  drawn  into  the  field,  so  that  the  Prince  of 
Orange  passed  his  time  at  playing  at  chess  with  me 
after  dinner,  or  in  going  to  Keswick  with  him  to  see 

*  Afterwards  Lord  Baltimore.     See  an  account  of  liiiii  ill  the  catalogue 
of  "  Rojal  and  ^■oble  Autliors,"  Vol.  It. 


120  THE   LIFE   OF 

his  great  horses,  or  in  making  love,  in  wliich  also  he 
used  me  as  his  companion,  yet  so  that  I  saw  nothing 
openly  more  than  might  argue  a  civil  familiarity. 
When  I  was  at  any  time  from  him,  I  did  hy  his  good 
leave  endeavor  to  raise  a  troop  of  horse  for  the  Duke 
of  Savoy's  service,  as  having  ohtaiued  a  commission 
to  that  puqioso  for  my  hrothor  William,  then  an  officer 
in  the  Low  Country.  Having  these  men  in  readiness, 
I  sent  word  to  the  Count  Scaraafigi  thereof,  who  was 
now  amhassador  in  England,  telling  him  that  if  he 
would  send  money  my  hrother  was  ready  to  go. 

Scaniafigi  answered  me,  that  he  expected  money 
in  England,  and  that  as  soon  as  he  received  it,  he 
would  scud  over  so  much  as  would  pay  an  hundred 
horse ;  hut  a  peace  hetwixt  him  and  tlie  Spaniard 
being  concluded  not  long  after  at  Asti,  the  whole 
charge  of  keeping  this  horse  fell  upon  me,  without 
ever  to  this  day  receiving  any  recompense. 

Winter  now  approaching,  and  nothing  more  to  he 
done  that  year,  I  went  to  the  Brill  to  take  shipping  for 
England.  Sir  Edward  Conway,  who  was  then  gov- 
ernor at  that  place,  and  afterwards  secretary  of  state, 
taking  notice  of  my  heing  there,  came  to  me,  and 
invited  me  every  day  to  come  to  him,  while  I  attended 
only  for  a  wind  ;  which  serving  at  last  for  my  jouniey. 
Sir  Edward  Conway  conducted  me  to  the  ship,  into 
which  as  soon  as  I  was  entered  he  caused  six  pieces  of 
ordnance  to  he  discharged  for  my  farewell.  I  was 
scarce  gone  a  league  into  tlu^  sea,  when  the  -wdnd  turned 
contrary,  and  forced  uw  hack  again  ;  returning  thus  to 
the  Brill,  Sir  Edward  Conway  welcomed  me  as  before ; 
and  now  after  some  three  or  four  days,  the  wind  serving 
he  conducted  me  again  to  th(!  ship,  and  bestowed  six 
volleys  of  ordnance  upon  me.     I  was  now  about  half- 


EDWAUD   LORD    HERBERT.  121 

Avay  to  England,  when  a  most  cruel  stonn  arose,  which 
tore  our  sails  and  spent  our  masts,  insomuch  that  the 
master  of  our  ship  gave  us  all  for  lost,  as  the  wind  was 
extreme  high  and  together  contrary  ;  we  were  canied 
at  last,  though  \A-ith  much  difficulty,  hack  again  to  the 
Brill,  where  Sir  Edward  Conway  did  congratulate  my 
escape,  saying,  he  helieved  certainly  that,  considering 
the  weather,  1  must  needs  be  cast  away. 

After  some  stay  here  with  my  former  welcome,  the 
wind  being  now  fair,  I  was  conducted  again  to  my  ship 
by  Sir  Edward  Conway,  and  the  same  volleys  of  shot 
given  me,  and  was  now  scarce  out  of  the  haven  when 
the  wind  again  turned  contrary,  and  drove  me  back. 
This  made  me  resolve  to  try  my  fortune  here  no  longer ; 
hiring  a  small  bark,  therefore,  I  Avent  to  the  sluice, 
and  from  thence  to  Ostend,  where  finding  company  I 
went  to  Brussels.  In  the  inn  where  I  lay  here  an 
ordinary  was  kept,  to  which  divers  noblemen  and  prin- 
cipal officers  of  the  Spanish  army  resorted ;  sitting 
among  these  at  dinner,  the  next  day  after  my  amval, 
no  man  knowing  me,  or  informing  himself  who  I  was, 
they  fell  into  discourse  of  divers  matters  in  Italian, 
Spanish,  and  French,  and  at  last  three  of  them,  one 
after  another,  began  to  speak  of  King  James  my  master 
in  a  very  scornful  manner.  I  thought  with  myself  then, 
that  if  I  was  a  base  fellow,  I  need  not  take  any  notice 
thereof,  since  no  man  knew  me  to  be  an  Englishman, 
or  that  I  did  so  mu(di  as  understand  their  language  ; 
but  my  heart  burning  within  me,  I,  j)utting  off  my  hat, 
arose  from  the  table,  and  turning  myself  to  those  that 
sat  at  the  upper  end,  who  had  said  nothing  to  the  king 
my  master's  prejudice,  I  told  them  in  Italian:  "Son 
Inglese  (I  am  an  Englishman),  and  shoiddbe  unworthy 
to  live  if  I  suffered  these  words  to  be  spoken  of  the  king 


122  THE   LIFE   OF 

my  master  "  ;  and  therewithal,  turning  myself  to  thfise 
who  had  injured  the  king,  1  said,  "  You  have  spoken 
falsely,  and  I  will  fight  with  you  all."  Those  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  tahle,  finding  I  had  so  much  reason 
on  my  part,  did  sharply  check  those  I  questioned,  and, 
to  l)e  hrief,  made  them  ask  the  king's  forgiveness, 
wherewith  also,  the  king's  health  being  drank  round 
about  the  table,  I  departed  thence  to  Dunkirk,  and 
thence  to  Graveling,  where  I  saw,  though  unknown,  an 
English  gentlewoman  enter  into  a  nunnery  there.  I 
went  thence  to  Calais ;  it  was  now  extreme  foul  weather, 
and  I  could  find  no  master  of  a  ship  willing  to  adven- 
ture to  sea ;  howbeit  my  impatience  was  such  that  I 
demanded  of  a  poor  fisherman  there  whether  he  would 
go  ;  he  answered  his  ship  was  worse  than  any  in  the 
haven,  as  being  open  above  and  without  any  deck, 
l)esides  that  it  was  old  ;  "  but,"  saith  he,  ''  I  care  for 
my  life  as  little  as  you  do,  and  if  you  will  go,  my  boat 
is  at  your  service." 

I  was  now  scarce  out  of  the  haven  when  a  high  grown 
sea  had  almost  overwhelmed  us,  the  waves  coming  in 
very  fast  into  our  shiii,  wliich  we  laded  out  again  the 
best  we  could  ;  notwithstanding  which  we  expected 
every  minute  to  be  cast  away.  It  pleased  God  yet, 
before  we  were  gone  six  leagues  into  the  sea,  to  cease 
tlie  tempest,  and  give  us  a  fair  passage  over  to  the 
Downs;  wliere,  after  giving  God  thanks  for  my  de- 
livery fr(jm  this  most  needless  danger  that  ever  I  did 
run,  I  went  to  London.  I  had  not  been  here  ten  days 
when  a  quai'tan  ague  seized  on  me,  which  held  me  for 
a  year  and  a  half  without  intermission,  and  a  year  and 
a  lialf  longer  at  spring  and  fall ;  the  good  days  I  had 
diuiug  all  this  sickness  1  employed  in  study,  the  ill 
being  spent  in  as  sharp  and  long  fits  as  I  think  ever 


EDWAKD    LORD    HERBERT.  123 

any  man  endured,  which  brought  ine  at  hxst  to  be  so 
loan  and  yellow,  that  scarce  any  man  did  know  me. 
It  happened  during  this  sickness,  that  I  walked  abroad 
one  day  towards  Whiteliall,  where  meeting  with  one 
Emerson,  who  spoke  very  disgraceful  words  of  Sir 
Robert  Harley,  being  tlien  my  dear  f!i('nd,  my  weak- 
ness could  not  hinder  me  to  be  sensil>le  of  my  friend's 
dishonor;  shaking  him  therefore  by  a  long  beard  he 
wore,  I  stepped  a  little  aside  and  di-ew  my  sword  in 
the  street.  Captain  Thomas  Scriven,  a  friend  of  mine, 
being  not  far  off  on  one  side,  and  divers  friends  of 
his  on  the  other  side  ;  all  that  saw  me  wondered  how 
I  could  go,  being  so  weak  and  consumetl  as  I  was, 
but  much  more  that  I  would  offer  to  fight :  howsoever, 
Emerson,  instead  of  drawing  his  sword,  ran  away  into 
Suffjlk  H  >use,  and  afterwards  informed  the  lords  of  the 
council  of  what  I  had  done  ;  who,  not  long  after  send- 
ing fjr  me,  did  not  so  much  reprehend  my  taking  part 
with  my  friend,  as  that  I  would  adventure  to  fight  be- 
ing in  such  a  bad  condition  of  health.  Before  I  came 
wholly  out  of  my  sickness.  Sir  Ge(n-ge  Villiers,  after- 
wards Duke  of  Buckingham,  came  into  the  king's 
favor  ;  this  cavaher,  meeting  me  accidentally  at  the 
Lady  Stanop's*  Iiouse,  came  to  me,  and  told  me  he 
had  heard  so  much  of  my  worth,  as  he  would  think 
himself  happy  if,  by  Ids  credit  with  the  king,  he  could 
dj  me  any  service ;  I  humbly  thanked  him,  but  told 
him  that  for  the  present  I  had  need  of  nothing  so  much 
as  health,  but  tliat  if  ever  I  had  ambition,  I  .should 
take  the  boldness  to  make  my  address  by  him. 

I  was  no  sooner  perfectly  recovered  <>f  tliis  long  sick- 
ness but  the  Earl  of   Oxford  and  myself  resolved   to 

*  Callierine,  d.iughtcr  of  Francis   Lord   Hastings,  first  wife  of  Pliilip 
Loid  Staii'iio])^,  afterwards  created  Earl  of  Clicstcrlisld. 


124  THE   LIFE   OF 

raise  two  regiments  for  the  service  of  the  Venetians. 
While  we  were  making  ready  for  this  journey,  the  Idng, 
having  an  occasion  to  send  an  ambassador  into  France, 
required  Sir  George  ViUiers  to  present  him  with  the 
names  of  the  fittest  men  for  that  employment  that  he 
knew ;  whereupon  eighteen  names,  among  which  mine 
was,  being  written  in  a  paper,  were  presented  to  him. 
The  king  presently  chose  me,  yet  so  as  he  desired  first 
to  have  the  approbation  of  his  privy  council^,  who, 
confirming  his  majesty's  choice,  sent  a  messenger  to  my 
house  among  gardens,  near  the  Old  Exchange,  requir- 
ing me  to  come  presently  to  them ;  myself,  little  know- 
ing then  the  honor  intended  me,  asked  the  messenger 
whether  I  had  done  any  fault,  that  the  lords  sent  for 
me  so  suddenly ;  wishing  him  to  tell  the  lords  that  I 
was  going  to  dinner,  and  would  afterwards  attend  them. 
I  luul  scarce  dined,  when  another  messenger  was  sent ; 
this  made  me  hasten  to  Whitehall,  where  I  was  no 
sooner  come,  but  the  lords  saluted  me  by  the  name  of 
lord  ambassador  of  France.  I  told  their  lordships,  there- 
upon, that  I  was  glad  it  was  no  worse,  and  that  I 
doubted  that  by  their  speedy  sending  ft.r  me  some  com- 
plaint, though  false,  might  be  made  against  me. 

My  first  commission  was,  to  renew  the  oath  of  alli- 
ance betwixt  th(^  two  crowns,  for  which  purpose  1  was 
extraordinary  ambassador,  which  being  done,  I  was  to 
reside  there  as  ordinary.  I  had  received  now  about  six 
or  seven  hundred  pounds  towards  the  charges  of  my 
iourney,  and  locked  it  in  certain  coffers  in  my  house, 
when  the  night  following,  about  one  of  the  clock,  I 
coulil  hear  divers  men  speak  and  knock  at  the  door, 
in  that  part  of  the  house  where  none  did  lie  but  myself, 
my  wife  and  her  attendants,  my  servants  being  lodged 
in  another  house  not  far  off;  as  soon  as  I  heard  the 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  125 

noise,  I  suspected  presently  thoy  came  to  rob  me  of 
my  money;  howsoever  I  thought  fit  to  rise,  and  g.)  to 
the  window  to  know  who  they  were ;  the  first  word  I 
heard  was,  "  Darest  thou  come  down,  Welshman  i" 
which  I  no  sooner  heard,  but,  taking  a  sword  in  one 
hand,  and  a  little  target  in  the  other,  I  did  in  my  shirt 
run  down  the  stairs,  open  the  doors  suddenly,  and 
charged  ten  or  twelve  of  them  with  that  fury  that  they 
ran  away,  some  throwing  away  their  lialberts,  others 
hurting  their  fellows  to  make  them  go  faster  in  a  nar- 
row way  they  were  to  pass  ;  in  which  disordered  man- 
ner I  drove  them  t(j  the  nnddle  of  the  street  by  the 
Exchange,  where,  finding  my  bare  feet  hurt  by  the 
stones  I  trod  on,  I  thought  fit  to  return  home,  and 
leave  them  to  their  fiight.  My  servants,  hearing  the 
noise,  by  this  time  were  got  up,  and  demanded  whether 
I  would  have  them  pursue  those  rogues  that  fied  away  ; 
but  I  answering  that  I  thought  they  were  out  of  their 
reach,  we  returned  home  together. 

While  I  was  preparing  myself  for  my  journey,  it 
happened  that  I,  passing  through  the  Inner  Temple 
one  day,  and  encountering  Sir  Robert  Vaughan  in  this 
country,  some  harsh  words  passed  betwixt  us,  which 
occasioned  him  at  the  persuasion  of  others,  whom  I 
will  not  nominate,  to  seiid  me  a  challenge ;  this  was 
brought  me  at  my  house  in  Blackfriars  by  Captain 
Charles  Price  upon  a  Sunday  about  one  of  the  clock 
in  the  afternoon  ;  when  I  had  read  it,  I  t(dd  Charles 
Price  that  I  did  ordinarily  bestow  this  day  in  devotion, 
nevertheless,  that  I  would  meet  Sir  Robert  Vaughan 
presently,  and  gave  him  thereupon  the  length  of  my 
sword,  demanding  whether  ho  brought  any  second  with 
bun  ;  to  wliicli  Charles  Price  replying  tliat  lie  would 
be  iu  the  field  with  liini,  I  told  my  brother  Sir  Henry 


126  THE   LIFE   OF 

Herbert,  then  present,  thereof,  who  readily  offering 
himself  to  he  my  second^  nothing  was  wanting  now 
l)ut  the  place  t(j  he  agreed  upon  betwixt  us,  which 
was  not  far  from  the  waterside  near  Chelsea. 

My  brother  and  I,  taking  boat  presently,  came  to  the 
place,  where  after  we  had  stayed  about  two  hours  in 
vain,  I  desired  my  brother  to  go  to  Sir  Eobert  Vaughan's 
lodging,  and  tell  him  that  I  now  attended  his  coming 
a  great  while,  and  that  I  desired  liim  to  come  away 
speedily  ;  hereupon  my  brother  went,  and  after  a  while 
returning  back  again,  he  told  me  they  were  not  ready 
yet ;  I  attended  then  about  an  hour  and  a  half  longer, 
but  as  he  did  not  come  yet,  I  sent  my  brother  a  second 
time  to  call  him  away,  and  to  tell  him  I  caught  cold, 
nevertheless  that  I  would  stay  there  till  sunset ;  my 
brother  yet  could  not  bring  him  along,  but  returned 
himself  to  the  place,  where  we  stayed  together  till  half 
an  hour  after  sunset,  and  then  returned  home. 

The  next  day  the  Earl  of  Worcester,*  by  the  king's 
command,  forbid  me  to  receive  any  message  or  letter 
from  Sir  Eobert  Vaughan,  and  advertised  me  withal, 
that  the  king  had  given  him  charge  to  end  the  business 
betwixt  us,  for  which  purpose  he  desired  me  to  conu^ 
before  him  the  next  day  about  two  of  the  clock;  at 
Miiicli  time,  after  the  earl  had  told  me,  that  lieing  now 
made  ambassador  and  a  public  person,  I  ought  not  to 
entertain  private  quanx-ls ;  after  which,  without  much 
ado,  he  ended  the  business  betwixt  Sir  Robert.  Vaughan 
and  myself :  it  was  thought  by  some,  that  this  Avould 
make  me  lose  my  jdace,  I  being  under  so  great  an 
obligation  to  the  king  for  my  employment  in  France  ; 
but  Sir  George  Villiers,  afterwards  Duke  of  Buckiug- 

*  Edward  Somerset,  Earl  of  Worcester,  Lord  Privy  seal  and  Knight  of 
the  Garter. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  127 

ham,  told  mo  he  would  warraut  me  for  this  one  time, 
but  I  must  do  so  no  more. 

I  was  now  aluiost  ready  for  my  journey,  and  had 
received  already  as  choice  a  company  of  gentlemen  for 
my  attendants  as  I  tliink  ever  followed  an  ambassador ; 
when  some  of  my  private  friends  told  me  that  I  was 
not  to  trust  so  much  to  my  pay  from  the  exchequer, 
but  that  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  take  letters  of  credit 
with  me,  for  as  much  money  as  I  could  well  procure. 
Informing  myself  hereupon  who  had  furnislied  the  last 
ambassador,  I  was  told  Monsieur  Savage,  a  Frenchman ; 
coming  to  his  house,  I  demanded  whether  he  would 
help  me  with  moneys  in  France,  as  he  had  done  the 
last  ambassador  ;  he  said  he  did  not  know  me,  but 
would  inform  himself  better  who  I  was  ;  departing  thus 
from  him,  I  went  to  Signor  Burlamacchi,  a  man  of  great 
credit  in  those  times,  and  demanded  of  him  the  same; 
his  answer  was,  that  he  knew  me  to  be  a  man  of  honor, 
and  I  had  kept  my  word  with  everybody;  wlH'reu])on, 
also  going  to  his  study,  gave  me  a  letter  of  credit  to 
one  Monsieur  de  Langherac  in  Paris,  for  £2000  sterlhig. 
1  then  demanded  what  security  he  expected  for  this 
money  ;  lie  said  he  would  have  nothing  but  my  prom- 
ise;  I  t(dd  him  he  had  put  a  great  obligation  upon 
me,  and  that  I  would  strive  to  acquit  myself  of  it  the 
best  I  could. 

Having  now  a  good  sum  of  money  in  my  coffers, 
and  this  letter  of  credit,  I  made  ready  for  my  journey. 
The  day  I  went  out  of  Londira  I  remember,  was  tlie 
same  in  wliicli  Queen  Anne  was  carried  to  burial,  which 
was  a  sad  spectacle  to  all  that  had  occasion  to  honor  lier. 
My  first  night's  journey  was  to  Gravesend,  wliere  being 
at  supper  in  my  inn,  Monsieur  Savage,  formerly  men- 
tioned, came  to  me,  and  told  me,  that  whereas  I  had 


128  THE   LIFE   OF 

spoken  to  hiin  for  ;i  Iftter  of  credit,  he  had  made  one 
which  he  thought  woiUd  he  to  my  contentment;  I 
demanded  to  whom  it  was  directed;  he  said  to  Mon- 
sieur Tallemant  and  Rambouillet  in  Paris  ;  I  asked 
then  what  they  were  wortli ;  he  said  ahove  one  hundred 
thousand  pounds  sterling ;  I  demanded  how  much  this 
letter  of  credit  was ;  he  said  for  as  much  as  I  should 
have  need  of;  I  asked  what  security  he  required;  he 
said  nothing  but  my  word,  which  he  had  heard  was 
inviolable. 

From  Gravesend,  by  easy  journeys,  I  went  to  Dover, 
where  I  took  shipping,  with  a  train  of  a  hundred  and 
odd  persons,  and  arrived  shortly  after  at  Calais,  where 
I  remember  my  cheer  was  twice  as  good  as  at  Dover, 
and  my  reckoning  half  as  cheap  ;  from  whence  I  went 
to  Boulogne,  Monstreville,  Abbeville,  Amiens,  and  in 
two  days  thence  to  St.  Denis  near  Paris,  where  1  was 
met  with  a  great  train  of  coaches,  that  were  sent  to 
ix'ceive  me,  as  also  by  the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies, 
and  Monsieur  Mennon,  my  fellow-scholar,  with  Mon- 
feieur  Disancour,  who  then  kept  an  academy,  and 
brought  with  him  a  brave  company  of  gentlemen  on 
great  horses  to  attend  me  into  town. 

It  was  now  Bomewhat  late  when  I  entered  Paris, 
upon  a  Saturday  night;  I  was  but  newly  settled  in  my 
lodging,  when  a  secretary  of  the  S[)anish  ambassador 
there  tcdd  me  that  his  lord  desired  to  have  the  first 
audience  from  me,  and  therefore  requested  he  might 
see  me  the  next  morning  ;  I  rejdied  it  was  a  day  I 
gave  whcdly  to  devotion,  and  therefore  entreated  him 
to  stay  until  some  more  convenient  time :  the  secretary 
replied  that  his  master  did  hold  it  no  less  holy  ;  howbeit 
that  his  respect  to  me  was  such  that  he  would  prefer 
the  desire  he  had  to  serve  me  before  all  other  con- 


EDWAKD   LORD   HERBERT.  129 

siderations ;    howsoever,  I  put  liiin  oif  until  Monday 
following. 

Not  long  after  I  took  a  house  in  Faubourg  St. 
Germain,  Rue  Tounion,  which  cost  me  £200  sterling 
yearly ;  having  furnished  the  house  richly,  and  lodged 
all  my  train,  I  prepared  for  a  journey  to  Tours  and 
Touraine,  where  the  French  court  then  was :  being 
come  hither  in  extreme  hot  weather,  I  demanded  au- 
dience of  the  king  and  queen,  wliich  being  granted,  I 
did  assure  the  king  of  the  great  affection  the  king  my 
master  bore  him,  not  only  out  of  tlie  ancient  alliance 
betwixt  the  two  crowns,  but  because  Henry  the  Fourth 
and  the  king  my  master  had  stipulated  with  each  other, 
that  whensoever  any  one  of  them  died,  the  survivor 
should  take  care  of  the  other's  child :  I  assured  him, 
farther,  that  no  charge  was  so  much  imposed  upon  me 
by  my  instructions,  as  that  I  should  do  good  offices 
betwixt  both  kingdoms,  and  therefore  that  it  were  a 
great  fault  in  me  if  I  behaved  myself  otherwise  than 
with  all  respect  to  his  majesty :  this  being  done,  I  pre- 
sented to  the  king  a  letter  of  credence  from  the  king 
my  master  :  the  king  assured  me  of  a  reciprocal  affec- 
tion to  the  king  my  master,  and  of  my  particular  wel- 
come to  his  court;  his  words  were  never  many,  as 
being  so  extreme  a  stutterer  that  he  would  sometimes 
hold  his  tongue  out  of  his  moutli  a  good  while  before 
he  could  speak  so  much  as  one  word ;  he  had  besides 
a  double  row  of  teeth,  and  was  observed  seldom  or  never 
to  spit  or  blow  his  nose,  or  to  sweat  much,  though  he 
were  very  laborious,  and  almost  indefatigable  in  his  ex- 
ercises of  hunting  and  hawking,  to  which  he  was  much 
addicted  :  neitlier  did  it  hinder  him,  though  he  was 
burst  in  his  body,  as  we  call  it,  or  lierni<jsus  ;  for  he  was 
noted  in  those  sports,  though  oftentimes  on  foot,  to  tire 


130  THE   LIFE    OF 

not  only  his  courtiers,  but  even  his  lackeys,  hoing 
equally  iusensihlo,  as  was  thought,  tithcr  of  heat  or 
cold ;  his  understanding  and  natural  parts  were  as 
good  as  could  be  expected  in  one  that  was  brought  up 
in  so  much  ignorance,  \A'hich  was  on  purjiose  so  done 
that  he  might  be  the  longer  governed;  howbeit,  he 
acquired  in  time  a  great  knowledge  in  atiiiirs,  as  con- 
versing for  the  most  part  with  wise  and  active  persons. 
He  was  noted  to  have  two  qualities  incident  to  all  who 
were  ignorantly  brought  up,  suspicion  and  dissinnila- 
tion;  for  as  ignorant  persons  walk  so  much  in  the 
dark,  they  cannot  l)e  exempt  from  fear  of  stumbling ; 
and  as  they  are  likewise  dei)rived  of,  or  deficient  in 
those  true  principles,  by  which  they  should  govern  both 
public  and  private  actions  in  a  whe,  solid,  and  demon- 
strative way,  they  strive  commonly  to  supply  these  im- 
perfections with  covert  arts,  which,  although  it  may 
be  sometimes  excusable  in  necessitous  persons,  and  be 
indeed  frequent  among  those  who  negotiate  in  small 
matters,  yet  condenmable  in  princes,  who,  proceeding 
upon  foundations  of  reason  and  strength,  ought  not  to 
submit  themselves  to  such  poor  helps  ;  howbeit,  I  must 
observe  that  neither  his  fears  did  take  away  his  courage 
when  there  was  occasion  to  use  it,  nor  his  dissimulation 
extend  itself  to  the  doing  of  private  mischiefs  to  his 
subjects,  either  of  one  or  the  other  religion  :  his  favor- 
ite was  one  Monsieur  de  Luynes,  who  in  his  nonage 
gained  much  upon  the  king  by  making  hawks  fly  at 
all  little  birds  in  his  gardens,  and  by  making  some 
of  those  little  birds  again  catch  butterflies  ;  and  had  the 
king  used  him  for  no  other  puqiose,  he  might  liave  been 
tolerated ;  but  as,  when  the  king  came  to  a  riper  age, 
the  government  of  puldic  affairs  was  drawn  chiefly 
from  his  counsels,  not  a  few  ciTors  were  committed. 


EDWARD   LOED    HERBERT,  13 1 

The  qucen-motlicr,  princes,  and  iinbles  of  that  king- 
dom repined  that  his  advices  to  the  king  should  be  so 
prevalent,  which  also  at  last  caused  a  civil  war  in  that 
kingdom.  How  unfit  this  man  was  for  the  credit  he 
had  with  the  king  may  be  argued  by  this,  that  when 
there  was  question  made  about  some  business  in  L>o- 
lu-mia,  he  demanded  whetlier  it  was  an  inland  country 
or  lay  upon  the  sea;  and  thus  much  f  )r  the  present  of 
the  king  and  his  favorite. 

After  my  audience  with  the  king,  I  had  another  from 
the  queen,  being  sister  to  the  King  of  Spain.  I  had 
little  to  say  unto  her  but  some  compliments  on  tlie  king 
my  master's  part,  but  such  compliments  as  her  sex  and 
(piality  were  capable  of.  This  (pieen  was  exceedingly 
f  lir,  like  those  of  the  House  of  Austria,  and  togeiher 
of  so  mild  and  good  a  condition  she  was  never  noted 
t.)  have  dt>ne  ill  orHees  to  any,  but  to  have  mediated  as 
iinich  as  was  possible  for  lier,  in  satisfaction  of  those 
wlio  had  any  suit  to  tlie  Idng,  as  far  as  their  cause  would 
bear.  She  had  now  been  married  divers  years  withiut 
having  any  children,  although  so  ripe  for  them  that 
nothing  seemed  to  be  wanting  on  her  part.  I  remem- 
ber her  the  mt)re  particularly  that  she  sliowed  publicly 
at  my  audiences  that  favor  to  me  as  not  only  my  ser- 
vants but  divers  otliers  took  notice  of  it.  After  this 
my  first  audience,  I  went  to  see  Monsieur  de  Luynes 
and  the  principal  ministers  of  state,  as  also  the  princes 
and  princesses,  and  ladies  then  in  the  court,  and  par- 
ticularly the  Princess  of  Conti,  from  whom  I  carried 
tlie  scarf  formerly  mentioned ;  and  tiiis  is  as  much  as  I 
shall  declare  in  tliis  phice  concerning  my  neg<)tiution 
witli  tlie  king  and  state ;  my  purpose  being,  if  God 
st'uds  me  life,  to  set  them  forth  apart,  as  having  the 
copies  of  all  my  despatches  in  a  great  trunk  in  n;y  house 


132  THE   LIFE   OF 

in  Loudon ;  and  considering  that  in  the  time  of  my 
stay  there,  there  were  divers  civil  wars  in  that  country, 
and  that  the  prince,  now  king,  passed,  with  my  Lord 
of  Bucldngham  and  others,  tln-ough  France  into  Sjiain, 
and  the  business  of  the  electt)r  pahitine  in  Bohemia, 
and  the  battle  of  Prague,  and  divers  other  memorable 
accidents,  both  of  state  and  war,  hapjiened  during  the 
time  of  my  employment,  I  conceive  a-  narration  of  them 
may  be  worth  the  seeing  to  them  who  have  it  not  from  a 
better  hand.  I  shall  only,  therefore,  relate  here,  as  they 
come  into  my  memory,  certain  little  jiassages,  which 
may  serve  in  some  part  to  declare  the  history  of  my  lii'e. 
Conung  back  fi-om  Tours  to  Paris,  I  gave  the  best 
order  I  could  concerning  tlie  exjienses  of  my  house, 
family,  and  stable,  that  I  might  settle  all  things  as  near 
as  was  possible  in  a  certain  course ;  allowing,  according 
to  the  manner  of  France,  so  many  pounds  of  beef, 
mutton,  veal,  and  pork,  and  so  much  also  in  turkeys, 
capons,  pheasants,  jiartridges,  and  all  other  fowls,  as 
also  pies  and  tarts  after  the  French  manner,  and  after 
all  this  a  dozen  dishes  of  sweetmeats  every  meal  con- 
stantly :  the  ordering  of  these  things  was  the  heavier 
to  me,  that  my  wife  liatly  refused  to  come  over  into 
France,  as  being  now  entered  into  a  dropsy,  which  also 
had  kept  her  without  children  for  many  years ;  I  was 
constrained,  therefore,  to  make  use  of  a  steward,  who 
was  understanding  and  diligent,  but  no  very  honest 
man ;  my  cliief  secretary  was  WilUam  Boswell,  now 
the  king's  agent  in  the  Low  Countries ;  my  secretary 
for  tlie  French  tongue  was  one  Monsieur  Ozier,  who 
afterwards  was  the  king's  agent  in  France ;  the  gentle- 
man of  my  horse  was  Monsieur  de  Meny,  who  after- 
wards connnaiided  a  thousand  horse  in  the  wars  of 
Germany,  and  proved  a  very  gallant  gentleman ;  Mr. 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  loo 

Crofts  was  one  of  my  principal  gentlemen,  and  afterwards 
made  the  king's  cup-bearer ;  and  Thomas  Caage,  that 
excellent  wit,  the  king's  carver;   Edmund  Taverner, 
wiiom  I  made  my  under  secretary,  was  afterwards  chief 
secretary  to  the  lord  chamberlain;  and  one  Mr.  Smith, 
secretary  to  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  :    I  nominate 
these,  and  could  many  more,  that  came  to  very  good 
f  irtunes  afterwards,  because  I  may  verify  that  which  I 
said  before  concerning  the  gentlemen  that  attended  me. 
When  I  came  to  Paris  the  English  and  French  were 
in  very  ill  Intelligence  with  each  other,  insomucli  that 
one  Buckley,  coming  then  to  me,  said  he  was  assaulted 
and    hurt    upon   Pontneuf,   only   because   he   was   an 
Englishman ;  nevertheless,  after  I  had  been  in  Paris 
about  a  month,  all  the  English  were  so  welcome  thither 
that  no  other  nation  was  so  acceptable  amongst  them,  in- 
somuch that  my  gentlemen  having  a  quarrel  with  some 
debauched  French,  who  in  their  drunkenness  quarrelled 
with  them,  divers  principal  gentlemen  of  that  nation  of- 
L'red  themselves  to  assist  my  people  with  their  swords. 
It  happened  one  day  that  my  cousin  Oliver  Herbert, 
and  George  Radney,  being  gentlemen  wlio  atten<led 
me,  and  Henry  Whittingliam,  my  Imtlcr,  had  a  quarrel 
with  some  French,  upon  I  know  not  what  frivcdous 
occasion ;  it  happened  my  cousin  Oliver  Herbert  had 
for  his  opposite  a  fencer  belongiug  to  the  Prince  of 
Conde,  who  was  dangerously  hurt  by  him  in  divers 
places;  but  as  the  house  or  hostel  of  the  Prince  of 
Conde  was  not  far  oft",  and  himself  well  beloved  in 
those  quarters,  the  French,  in  great  multitudes  arising, 
drove  away  the  three  above-mentioned  into  my  house, 
pursuing  them  within  the  gates;  I,  perceiving  this  at  a 
window,  ran  out  with  my  sword,  wliich  the  people  no 
sooner  saw,  but  they  tied  agaia  as  fast  as  ever  tliey 


134  THE   LIFE   OF 

entered ;  howsoever,  the  Prince  of  Ccnde  his  fencer 
was  in  that  danger  of  his  life  that  Oliver  Herbert  was 
forced  to  fly  France,  which,  that  he  might  do  the  bet- 
ter, I  paid  the  said  fencer  two  hnndred  crowns,  or  sixty 
pound.s  sterling,  for  his  hurt  and  cures. 

The  plague  being  now  hot  in  Paris,  I  desired  the 
Duke  of  Montmorency  to  lend  nie  the  castle  of  i^krhiu, 
where  I  lived  in  the  time  of  the  most  noble  father,  which 
he  willingly  granted  ;  removing  thither,  I  enjoyed  that 
pweet  place  and  country,  wherein  I  found  not  a  few 
that  welcomed  me  out  of  their  ancient  acquaintance. 

On  the  one  side  of  me  was  the  Baron  de  Montaterre, 
of  the  reformed  religion,  and  ^Monsieur  de  Bouteville  on 
the  other,  who,  though  young  at  the  time,  jiroved  after- 
wards to  be  that  brave  cavalier  vvhich  all  France  did 
so  much  celebrate ;  in  both  their  castles  liliewise  were 
ladies  of  much  beauty  and  discretion,  tuid  particularly 
a  sister  of  Bouteville,  thought  to  be  one  of  the  chief 
perfections  of  the  time,  whose  company  yielded  some 
divertisement  when  my  public  occasions  did  suffer  it. 

Winter  being  now  come,  I  returned  to  my  house  in 
Paris,  and  prepai'ed  for  renewing  the  oath  of  alliance 
betwixt  the  two  crowns,  for  wliich,  as  I  said  formerly, 
I  had  an  extraordinary  commission ;  nevertheless,  the 
king  put  oif  the  business  to  as  long  a  time  as  he  M'ell 
could.  In  the  mean  while  Prince  Henry  of  Nassau, 
brother  to  Prince  Maurice,  coming  to  Paris,  was  met 
and  much  welcomed  by  me,  as  being  obliged  to  him, 
no  less  than  to  his  brother  in  the  Low  Countries. 
This  prince  and  all  his  train  were  feasted  by  me  at 
Paris  with  a  hundred  dishes,  costing,  as  I  remember, 
in  all  a  liundred  pounds. 

Tlie  Frencli  king  at  last  res<dving  tipon  a  day  for  per- 
forming the  ceremony  betwixt  the  two  crowns  above- 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  135 

mentiouetl,  myself  and  all  iny  train  put  ourselves  into 
that  sumptuous  equijjage  that  1  remember  it  cost  me 
one  way  or  another  above  one  thousand  pounds.  And 
truly,  the  magnificence  of  it  was  such,  as  a  little  French 
book  was  pi-esently  printed  thereof:  this  being  done, 
I  resided  liere  in  tlic  quality  of  an  ordinary  ambassador. 
And  now  I  shall  mention  some  particular  passages 
concerning  myself,  without  entering  yet  any  way  into 
the  whole  frame  and  context  of  my  negotiation,  reserv- 
ing them,  as  I  said  l>efjre,  to  a  particular  treatise.  I 
spent  my  time  much  in  the  visits  of  the  princes,  coun- 
cil of  state,  and  great  persons  of  the  French  kingdom, 
who  did  ever  punctually  requite  my  visits  :  the  like  I 
did  alst)  to  the  chief  ambassadors  tliere,  among  M'hom, 
the  Venetian,  Low  Country,  Savoy,  and  the  united 
princes  in  Germany  ambassadors  did  bear  me  that 
respect,  that  they  iisually  met  in  my  house,  to  ad- 
vise together  concerning  the  great  affairs  of  that  time ; 
for,  as  the  Spaniard  tlien  was  so  potent  that  he  seemed 
to  affect  an  universal  monarchy,  all  the  above-men- 
tioned ambassadors  did  in  one  common  interest  strive 
to  oppose  him  :  all  our  endeavors  yet  could  not  hinder 
but  that  he  both  publicly  prevailed  in  his  attempts 
abroad,  and  privately  did  coiTupt  divers  of  the  princi- 
pal ministers  of  state  in  this  kingdom.  I  came  to 
discover  this  by  many  ways,  but  by  none  more  effect- 
ually than  by  the  means  of  an  Italian,  who  returned 
over  by  letters  of  exchange  the  moneys  the  Spanisli 
ambassador  received  for  liis  occasions  in  France  ;  for  I 
perceived  that  when  the  said  Italian  was  to  receive  an 
extraordinary  great  sum  for  the  Spanish  ambassador's 
use,  the  whole  f.ice  of  affairs  was  presently  changed, 
iusomucli  that  neitlu-r  my  reas(ms,  nor  th(^  aml)assa- 
dors  above-mentioned,  how  valid   soever,  could  prevail ; 


136  THE    LIFE    OF 

though  yet  aftenvards  we  found  means  together  to  re- 
duce affairs  to  their  former  train,  till  some  other  new 
great  sum  coming  to  the  Spanish  ambassador's  hand, 
and  from  thence  to  the  aforesaid  ministers  of  state, 
altered  all.  Howbeit,  divers  visits  passed  betwixt  the 
Spanish  ambassador  and  myself,  in  one  of  which  he 
told  me  that  though  our  interests  were  divers,  yet  we 
might  continue  friendship  in  our  particular  persons ;  for, 
said  he,  "it  can  be  no  occasion  of  offence  betwixt  us 
that  each  of  us  strive  the  best  he  can  to  serve  the  hing 
his  master."  I  disliked  not  his  reasons,  though  yet  I 
could  not  omit  to  tell  him  that  I  would  maintain  the 
dignity  of  the  king  my  master  the  best  I  could ;  and 
this  I  said,  because  the  Spanish  ambassador  had  taken 
place  of  the  English  in  the  time  of  Henry  the  Fourtli  in 
this  fashion,  they  both  meeting  in  an  antechamber  to 
the  secretary  of  state,  the  Spanish  ambassador  leaning 
to  the  wall  in  that  posture  that  he  took  the  hand  of  the 
English  ambassador,  said  publicly,  "  I  hold  this  place 
in  the  right  of  the  king  my  master "  ;  which  small 
punctilio,  being  not  resented  by  our  ambassador  at 
that  time,  gave  the  Spaniard  occasion  to  brag  that  lie 
had  taken  the  hand  from  our  ambassador.  This  made 
me  more  watchful  to  regain  the  honor  which  the 
Spaniard  pretended  to  have  gotten  herein,  so  that, 
though  the  ambassador  in  his  visits  often  repeated  ihe 
words  above-mentioned,  being  in  Si^anish,  "  Que  cada 
uno  haga  lo  que  pudiere  j)i)r  su  amo,"  —  "  Let  every  man 
do  the  best  he  can  for  his  master,"  —  I  attended 
the  occasion  to  write  my  master ;  it  happened  one  day 
that  both  of  us  going  to  the  French  king  for  our  sev- 
eral affairs,  the  Spanish  ambassador  between  Paris  and 
Estamjjos,  being  upon  his  waj%  before  me  in  his  coach, 
with  a  train  of  about  sixteen  or  eighteen  persons  on 


EDWARD    LOKD   HERBERT.  lo7 

horseback,  I,  following  him  in  my  coach  with  about 
ten  or  twelve  horses,  found  that  either  I  must  go  the 
Spanish  pace,  which  is  slow,  or  if  I  hasted  to  pass  him, 
that  I  must  liazard  the  suffering  of  some  affrout  like  unto 
that  our  former  ambassador  received  ;  proposing  here- 
upon to  my  gentlemen  the  wli.ile  business,  I  tokl  them 
that  I  meant  to  redeem  the  honor    of  the  king  my 
master  some  way  or  other,  demanding  farther  whether 
they  would  assist  me ;  which  they  promising,  I  bid  the 
coachman  drive    on;  the  Spanish  ambassa(hir  seeing 
me  approach,  and  imagining  what  my  intention  was, 
sent  a  gentleman  to  me,  to  tell  me  he  desired  to  salute 
me,  which  I  accepting,  the  gentleman  returned  to  the 
ambassador,  who  aligliting  from  his  coach  attended  me 
in  the  middle  of  the  highway,  which  being  perceived 
by  me  I  alighted  also,  when  some  extravagant  com- 
pliments having  passed  betwixt  us,  the  Spanish  am- 
bassador took  his  leave   of  me,  went  to  a  dry  ditch 
nut  far  off,  but  indeed  to  hold  the  upper  hand  of  me 
while  I  passed  by  in  my  coach,  whicli  being  observed 
by  me  I  left  my  coach  and,  getting  upon  a  spare  horse 
I  had  there,  rode  into  the  said  dry  ditch,  and,  telling 
him  aloud  that  I  knew  well  why  he  stood  there,  bid 
him  afterwards  get  to  his  coach,  f(.r  I  must  ride  that 
way;  the  Spanish  ambassador,  who  understood  me  well, 
went  to  his  coach  grumbUng  and  discontented,  thouijh 
yet  neither  he  nor  his  train  did  any  more  tlian  look 
one  upon  another  in  a  confused  manner;    my  coach 
this  while   passing  by  the  ambassador  on  the   same 
side   I   was,   I   shortly  after  left  my  horse   and   got 
into  it:  it  happened  tliis  wliile,  that  one  of  my  coacli 
horses  having  lost  a  shoe,   I   tliouglit  fit  to  stay  at 
a  smith's   forije,   about  a  quarter  of  a  mile   before  ; 
this  shoe  could  not  be  put  on  so  soon  but  that  the 


138  THE   LIFE   OF 

Spanish  ambassador  overtook  ns,  and  might  indeed 
have  passed  us,  hut  that  he  thought  I  would  give  him 
another  affront ;  attending  therefore  the  smith's  h'isure, 
he  stayed  in  the  liighway  to  our  no  little  admiration, 
until  my  horse  was  sht)d ;  we  continued  our  journey 
to  Estampes,  the  Spanish  ambassador  following  us  still 
at  a  good  distance. 

I  should  scarce  have  mentioned  this  passage  but 
that  the  S])aniards  do  so  much  stand  upon  their  Pun- 
douores  ;  for  confirming  whereof  I  have  thought  fit  to 
remember  the  answer  a  Spanish  ambassador  made  to 
Philip  the  Second,  King  of  Spain,  who,  finding  fault 
with  him  for  neglecting  a  business  of  great  importance 
in  Italy,  because  he  could  not  agree  with  the  French 
ambassador  about  some  such  Pundonore  as  this,  said 
to  him,  "Como  a  dexado  una  cosa  de  importaiicia  per 
una  ceremonial  "  —  "How,  have  you  left  a  business  of 
importance  for  a  ceremony"?"  The  ambassador  boldly 
replied  to  his  master,  "Como  por  una  ceremonial 
Vuesa  majestas  misma  no  es  sino  una  ceremonia,"  — 
"  How,  for  a  ceremony?  Your  majesty's  self  is  but  a 
cevemony." 

Howsoever  the  Spanish  ambassador  taking  no  notice 
publicly  of  the  advantage  I  had  of  him  herein,  dis- 
sembled it,  as  I  heard,  until  he  could  find  some  fit 
occasion  to  resent  this  passage,  which  yet  he  never  did 
to  this  day. 

Among  the  visits  T  rendered  to  the  grandees  of 
France,  one  of  the  princiital  I  made  was  to  that  brave 
general  the  Duke  of  Lesdigueres,  who  was  now  grown 
very  old  and  deaf;  his  first  words  to  me  were,  "Mon- 
sieur, you  must  do  mc  the  honor  to  speak  high,  for  I 
am  deaf"  ;  my  answer  to  him  was,  "  You  was  born  to 
command  and  not  to  obey ;  it  is  enough  if  others  have 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  139 

ears  to  hear  you " :  this  compliment  took  him  much, 
and  indeed  I  have  a  manuscript  of  his  milit;\xy  precepts 
and  observations,  whidi  I  value  at  a  great  price. 

I  shall  relate  now  some  tilings  concerning  myself, 
which,  though  they  may  seem  scarce  credible,  yet  be- 
fore God  are  true.  I  had  been  now  in  France  about  a 
year  and  a  half,  Avhen  my  tailor,  Andrew  Heuly  of 
Basil,  who  now  lives  in  Blackfriars,  demanded  of  me 
half  a  yard  of  satin  to  make  me  a  suit  more  than  I  was 
accustomed  to  give,  of  which  I  required  a  reas(jn,  say- 
ing, I  was  not  fatter  now  than  when  I  came  to  France; 
he  answered,  •'  It  was  true,  but  you  are  taller  "  :  where- 
unto  when  I  would  give  no  credit,  he  brought  his  old 
measures,  and  made  it  appear  that  they  did  not  reach 
to  their  just  places;  1  told  him  I  knew  not  how  this 
happened,  but  howsoever  he  should  have  half  a  yard 
more,  and  that  when  I  came  into  England  I  would 
clear  the  doubt,  for  a  little  before  my  departure  thenc(% 
I  remember  William  Earl  of  Pembroke  and  myself  di  1 
measure  heights  together  at  the  request  of  the  Countess 
of  Bedford,  and  he  was  then  higher  than  I  by  about 
the  breadth  of  my  little  finger:  at  my  return  therefore 
into  England  I  measured  again  with  the  same  earl, 
and  to  both  our  great  wonders  found  myself  taller  than 
he  by  the  breadth  of  a  little  finger ;  which  growth  (jf 
mine  I  could  attribute  to  no  other  cause  but  to  my 
quartan  ague  formerly  mentioned,  M'hich,  when  it 
quitted  me,  left  me  in  a  more  perfect  health  than  I  f(  tr- 
merly  enjoyed. 

I  weighed  myself  in  balances  often  with  men  lower 
than  myself  by  the  head,  and  in  their  bodies  slenderer, 
and  yet  was  found  lighter  than  they,  as  Sir  John  Davers, 
Knight,  and  Kichard  (uilKths,  now  living,  can  witness, 
with  both  whom  1  have  been  weighed ;   I  had  also,  and 


140  THE   LIFE   OF 

have  still,  a  pulse  on  the  crown  of  my  head ;  it  is  well 
known  to  those  that  wait  in  my  chamber  that  the 
shirts,  waistcoats,  and  other  garments  I  wear  next  my 
body  are  sweet,  beyond  what  either  easily  can  be  be- 
lieved, or  hath  been  observed  in  any  else,  which  sw^eet- 
ness  also  was  found  to  be  in  my  breath  above  others, 
before  I  used  to  take  tobacco,  whicli  towards  my  latter 
time  I  was  forced  to  take  against  certain  rheums  and 
catarrhs  that  trouble  me,  which  yet  did  not  taint  my 
breatli  for  any  long  time  ;  I  scarce  ever  felt  cold  in  my 
life,  though  yet  so  subject  to  catarrh  that  I  think  no 
man  ever  was  more  obnoxious  to  it ;  all  which  I  do  iu 
a  familiar  way  mention  to  my  posterity,  tlnnigh  other- 
wise they  might  be  thought  scarce  worth  the  writing. 

The  eflfect  of  my  being  sent  into  France  by  the  king 
my  master  being  to  hold  all  good  intelligence  betwixt 
both  crowns,  my  employment  was  both  noble  and 
pleasing,  and  my  pains  not  great,  France  having  no 
design  at  that  time  upon  England,  and  King  James 
being  that  pacific  prince  all  the  world  knew.  And 
thus,  besides  the  times  I  spent  in  treaties  and  negotia- 
tions I  had  either  with  the  ministers  of  state  in  France, 
or  foreign  ambassadors  residing  in  Paris,  I  had  spare 
time,  not  only  for  my  book,  but  for  visits  to  divers 
grandees,  for  little  more  ends  than  olitainiug  some  in- 
telligence of  the  affairs  of  that  kingdom  and  civil  con- 
versation, for  which  their  free,  generous,  and  cheerful 
company  was  no  little  motive  ;  persons  of  all  quality 
being  so  addicted  to  have  nuitual  entertainment  with 
each  other,  that  in  calm  weather  one  might  find  all  the 
noble  and  good  company  in  Paris  of  both  sexes,  either 
iu  the  garden  of  the  Tuilcries,  or  in  the  park  f)f  B(jis 
de  Vincevmes,  they  thinking  it  almost  an  incivility  to 
refuse  their  presence  and  free  discourse  to  any  who  were 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  141 

capable  of  coming  to  those  places,  either  under  the 
recommendation  of  good  parts,  or  but  so  much  as  hand- 
some clothes  and  a  good  equipage  ;  when  foul  weather 
was,  they  speut  their  time  in  visits  at  each  otlier's 
houses,  where  they  interclianged  civil  discourses,  or 
lieard  music,  or  fell  to  dancing,  using,  according  to  the 
manner  of  that  country,  all  the  reasonable  liberties 
they  could  with  their  honor  ;  while  their  manner  was, 
either  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  or  elsewhere  if 
any  one,  discoursing  with  a  lady,  did  see  some  other  of 
good  fashion  approach  to  her,  he  would  leave  her  and 
go  to  some  other  lady,  he  who  conversed  with  her  at 
that  time  quitting  her  also  and  going  to  some  other, 
that  so  addresses  might  be  made  equal  and  free  to  all 
without  scruple  on  any  part,  neither  was  exception 
made  or  quarrel  begun  upon  these  terms. 

It  happened  one  day  that  I  being  ready  to  return  from 
the  Tuileries,  about  eight  of  the  clock  in  the  sunnner, 
with  intention  to  write  a  despatch  to  the  king  about 
some  intelligence  I  had  received  there,  the  queen  at- 
tended with  her  principal  ladies,  without  so  much  as 
one  cavalier,  did  enter  the  gardens;  I  stayed  on  one 
side  of  an  alley  there  to  do  my  reverence  to  her  and  the 
rest,  and  so  return  to  my  housa,  when  the  queen,  per- 
ceiving me,  stayed  awhile  as  if  she  expected  I  should  at- 
tend her,  but  as  I  stirred  not  more  than  to  give  her  that 
great  respect  I  owed  her,  the  Princess  of  Conti,  who  was 
next,  called  me  to  her,  and  said  I  must  go  along  with 
her;  but  I  excusing  myself  upon  occasion  of  a  present 
despatch  which  I  was  to  make  unto  his  majesty,  the 
Duchess  of  Antador,  who  followed  her,  came  to  me,  and 
said  I  must  not  refuse  her,  wh(ireupon,  leading  her  by 
her  arms,  according  to  the  manner  of  that  country,  the 
Princess  of  Conti,  offended  that  I  had  denied  her  that 


142  THE  LIFE   OF 

civility,  which  I  had  yifhled  to  another,  took  me  off, 
after  she  had  demanded  the  consent  of  the  duchess,  hut 
the  queen  tlien  also  staying,  I  left  the  princess,  and 
Avith  all  due  liumility,  went  to  the  queen  and  led  herhy 
the  arms,  walking  thus  to  a  place  in  the  garden  where 
some  orange-trees  grew,  and  here,  discoursing  Avith  her 
majesty  hareheaded,  some  small  shot  fell  on  hoth  our 
heads;  the  occasion  whereof  was  this,  the  king  heingiu 
the  garden,  and  shooting  at  a  hird  in  the  air,  which  he 
did  with  much  perfection,  the  descent  of  his  shot  fell 
just  upon  us;  the  queen  was  much  startled  herewith, 
when  I,  coming  nearer  to  her,  demanded  whether  she 
had  received  any  harm;  to  which  she  answering  no,  and 
therewith  taking  two  or  three  small  pellets  from  her  hair, 
it  was  thought  tit  to  send  a  gardener  to  the  king,  to  tell 
him  that  her  majesty  was  there,  and  that  he  should 
shoot  no  more  that  way,  which  was  no  sooner  heard 
among  the  nohles  that  attended  him,  hut  many  of  them 
leaving  him  came  to  the  queen  and  ladies,  among  whom 
was  Monsieur  Le  Grand,*  who,  finding  the  queen  still 
discoursing  with  ine,  stole  hehind  her,  and,  letting  fall 
gently  some  comfits  he  had  in  his  jjocket  upon  the 
queen's  hair,  gave  her  occasion  to  apprehend  that  stime 
shot  had  fallen  on  her  again  ;  turning  hereupon  to 
Monsieur  Le  Grand,  I  said  that  I  marvelled  that  so  old 
a  courtier  as  he  was  could  find  no  means  to  entertain 
ladies  hut  hy  making  them  afraid ;  hut  tlie  queen 
slutrtly  after  returning  to  her  lodging,  I  took  my  leave 
of  her  and  came  home :  all  which  passage  I  have 
thought  fit  to  set  down,  the  accident  above-mentioned 
being  so  strange  that  it  can  hardly  be  paralleled. 

It  fell  out  one  day  that  the  Prince  of  Conde  coming 
to  my  house,    some  si)eech  happened  concerning  the 

*  Kuga',  Due  do  BelU';raide,  Grand  Escuyer. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  143 

king  my  master,  in  whom,  thougla  lie  acknowledged 
much  leariiiug,  knowle<lge,  clenieucy,  and  divers  other 
virtues,  yet  he  said  he  had  heard  that  tiie  king  was 
much  given  to  cursing ;  1  answered  that  it  was  out  of 
his  gentleness;  hut  the  prince  demanding  how  cursing 
could  be  a  gentleness,  I  repUed,  yes,  for  though  he 
could  punish  men  himself,  yet  he  left  them  to  (Jod  to 
punish  ;  which  defence  of  the  king  my  master  was 
afterwards  much  celebrated  in  the  French  court. 

Monsieur  de  Luynes,*  continuing  still  the  king's  favor- 
ite, advised  him  to  war  against  his  subjects  of  tlie  re- 
formed religion  in  France;  saying  he  would  neither  be 
a  great  prince  as  long  as  he  suffered  so  jjuissant  a  party 
to  remain  within  his  dominions,  nor  could  justly  .style 
himself  the  most  Chri.stian  king,  as  long  as  he  permitted 
such  heretics  to  be  in  that  great  number  they  were,  or 
to  hold  those  strong  places  wliich  by  public  edict  were 
as.signed  to  them,  and  therefore  tliat  he  should  extirpate 
them  as  the  Spaniards  had  done  the  Moors,  who  are 
all  banished  into  other  countries,  as  we  may  find  in 
their  histories:  this  counsel,  although  approved  by 
the  young  king,  was  yet  disliked  by  other  grave  and 
wise  persons  about  him,  and  particularly  by  the  Chan- 
cellor Sillery  and  the  President  Jannin,  who  thought 
better  to  have  a  peace  which  had  two  religions,  than  a 
war  that  had  none.  Howbeit,  the  design  of  Luynes 
was  applauded,  not  only  by  the  Jesuit  party  in  France 
but  by  some  princes  and  otiicr  martial  persons,  inso- 
much that  the  Duke  of  (.Juise,!  coming  to  see  me  one 
day,  said  that  they  should  never  be  happy  in  France 
till  those  of  the  religion  were  rooted  out;  I  answered 
tliat  I  wondered  to  hear  him  say  .so ;  and  the  duke  de- 

*■  Charles  Alliert,  Duke  of  Luynes. 

t  Cla.ljji,  soa  of  llciiry  Du.ve  ul'  Guiso.  wlio  was  kilkd  at  Ulois. 


144  THE   LIFE    OF 

manding  why,  I  roiilicd  that  whensoever  those  of  the 
religion  were  put  down,  the  turn  of  tlie  great  persons 
and  governors  of  provinces  of  that  kingdom  would  be 
next;  and  that  though  the  present  king  were  a  good 
prince,  yet  that  their  successors  may  be  otherwise,  and 
that  men  did  not  know  how  soon  princes  might  prove 
tyrants  when  they  had  nothing  to  fear  ;  which  speech 
of  mine  was  fatal,  since  those  of  the  religion  were  no 
sooner  reduced  into  that  weak  condition  in  which  now 
they  are,  but  the  governors  of  provinces  were  brougiit 
lower,  and  curbed  much  in  their  power  and  authority, 
and  the  Duke  of  Guise  first  of  them  all;  so  that  I 
doubt  not  but  my  words  were  well  remembered.  How- 
soever, the  war  n(nv  went  on  with  nmch  fervor,  neither 
could  I  dissuade  it,  tlniugh  using,  according  to  the  in- 
structions I  had  from  the  king  my  master  many  argu- 
ments for  that  pui-j5ose.  I  was  told  often  tliat  if  the 
reformation  in  France  had  been  like  that  in  England, 
where  they  observed  we  retained  the  hierarchy,  together 
with  decent  rites  and  ceremonies  in  the  church,  as  also 
holidays  in  the  memory  of  saints,  music  in  churches, 
and  divers  other  testimonies,  both  of  glorifying  G(  d 
and  giving  honor  and  reward  to  learning,  they  could 
much  better  have  tolerated  it ;  but  such  a  rash  and  vio- 
lent reformation  as  theirs  was  ought  by  no  means  to 
be  approved ;  vihercunto  I  answered  that  though  the 
causes  of  departing  from  the  church  of  Rome  were 
taught  and  delivered  by  many  sober  and  modest  pei- 
sons,  yet  that  the  reformation  in  great  part  was  acted 
by  the  common  people,  whereas  ours  began  at  the 
prince  of  state,  and  therefore  was  more  moderate, 
whicli  reason  I  found  did  not  dis})lease  them  ;  I  added 
farther,  then,  that  the  reformed  religion  in  France 
would  easily  enough  admit  a  hierarchy,  if  they  liad 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  145 

suITiciont  means  among  them  to  maintain  it,  and  tliat  if 
their  churches  were  as  fair  as  those  wliich  the  Koman 
Catholics  had,  they  would  use  the  more  decent  sorts  of 
rites  and  ceremonies,  and  togetlier  like  well  of  firgans 
and  choirs  of  singers,  rather  than  make  a  breach  or 
schism  on  that  occasion;  as  for  holidays,  I  doubted 
not  but  the  principal  persons  and  ministers  of  their  re- 
ligion would  approve  it  much  better  than  the  comuKJU 
people,  who,  being  labtirers  and  artisans  for  the  most 
part,  had  the  advantages  for  many  more  days  than  tin; 
Roman  Cathcdies  for  getting  their  living ;  howsoever, 
that  those  of  the  religion  had  been  good  cautions  to 
make  the  Roman  Catholic  priests,  if  not  better,  yet  at 
least  more  wary  in  their  lives  and  actions ;  it  being 
evident  that  since  tlie  reformation  began  among  those 
of  the  I'eligion,  the  Roman  Catholics  had  divers  ways 
reformed  themselves,  and  abated  not  only  much  of 
the  power  they  usurped  over  laics,  but  were  more 
pious  and  continent  than  formerly.  Lastly,  that  those 
of  the  religion  acknowledged  soh^ly  the  king's  authoi'- 
ity  in  government  of  all  affairs,  whereas  the  other 
side  held  the  regal  power,  not  only  inferior  in  divers 
points,  but  subordinate  to  the  papal,  nothing  of  whicli 
yet  served  to  divert  Monsieur  de  Luynes  or  the  king 
from  their  res(dutions. 

The  king  having  now  assembled  an  army,  and  made 
some  progress  against  tliose  of  the  religion,  I  had  in- 
structions sent  me  from  the  king  my  master  to  medi- 
ate a  peace,  and  if  I  could  not  prevail  therein,  to  use 
some  such  words  as  may  both  argue  his  majesty's  care 
of  them  of  the  religion,  and  together  to  let  the  French 
king  know  that  he  would  not  permit  their  total  ruin 
and  extirpation.  Tlie  king  was  now  going  to  lay 
siege  to  St.  Jean  d'Angely,  when   myself  was  newly 


146  THE   LIFE   OF 

recovered  of  a  fever  at  Paris,  in  which,  hesides  the  lielp 
of  many  able  physicians,  1  had  the  comfort  of  divers 
visits  from  many  principal  grandees  of  France,  and 
particularly  the  Princess  of  Conti,  who  would  sit  hy  my 
bedside  two  or  three  hours,  and  Mith  clieeri'ul  discourse 
entertain  me,  though  yet  I  was  brought  so  low  that  I 
could  scarce  return  anything  by  way  of  answer  but 
thanks.  The  command  yet  which  I  received  from  the 
king  my  master  quickened  me,  insomuch  that  by  slow 
degi'ees  I  went  into  my  coach,  together  with  my  tiain, 
towards  St.  Jean  d'Angely.  Being  arrived  williiu  a 
small  distance  of  that  place,  I  found  by  divers  cir- 
cumstances that  the  effect  of  my  negotiation  had  been 
discovered  from  England,  and  that  1  was  not  welcome 
thither ;  howbeit,  having  obtained  an  audience  from 
the  king,  I  exposed  what  I  had  in  charge  to  say  to 
liim,  to  which  yet  I  received  no  f)ther  answer  but 
that  I  should  go  to  Monsieur  de  Luynes,  by  whom 
I  should  know  his  majesty's  intention.  Pepairing 
thus  to  liim,  I  did  find  outwardly  good  recejition, 
though  yet  I  did  not  know  how  cunningly  he  pro- 
ceeded to  betray  and  frustrate  my  endeavt)rs  for  those 
of  the  religion  ;  for  hiding  a  gentleman  called  Mon- 
sieur Aniaud  behind  the  hangings  in  his  chamber,  who 
was  then  of  the  religion,  1>ut  had  promised  to  revolt 
to  the  king's  side  ;  this  gentleman,  as  he  himself  con- 
fessed afterwards  to  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  had  in  charge 
to  relate  unto  those  of  the  religion  liow  little  help  they 
might  expect  from  me,  when  he  should  tell  them  the 
answers  which  Monsieur  de  Luynes  made  me.  Sitting 
thus  in  a  chair  before  Monsieur  de  Luynes,  he  demanded 
the  effect  of  my  business ;  I  answered  that  the  king  my 
master  commanded  me  to  mediate  a  ])eace  betwixt  Ills 
majesty  and  his  subjects  of  the  religion,  and  that  I  de- 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  147 

sireJ  to  do  it  in  all  those  fair  and  equal  terras  which 
mi^'-ht  stand  with  the  honor  of  France,  and  the  t;ood  in - 
telU^'cncc  betwixt  the  two  kingdoms;  to  which  he  re- 
turned tWs  rude  answer  only,  "  What  hath  the  king  yuur 
master  to  do  with  our  actions  ?  Why  doth  he  meddle 
Avith  our  afiiiirs  1 "  My  reply  was,  that  the  king  my 
master  ought  not  to  give  an  account  of  the  reason  vrhich 
induced  him  hereunto,  and  as  for  me,  it  was  enough 
1,1  obey  him  ;  howheit  if  he  did  ask  me  in  more  gentle 
terms,  I  should  do  the  best  I  could  to  give  hhn  satis- 
factiini.  To  wliich,  though  he  answered  no  more 
than  the  word  "  Bien,"  or  "  Well,"  I  pursuing  my  in- 
struction said  that  the  king  my  master,  according 
to  the  mutual  stipulation  betwixt  Henry  the  Fourth 
and  himself,  that  the  survivor  (»f  either  of  them  should 
procure  the  tranquillity  and  peace  of  the  other's  estate, 
had  sput  tliis  message;  and  that  he  had  not  only 
testified  this  his  pious  iucliuation  heretofore  in  the 
Lite  civil  wars  of  France,  but  was  desirous  on  thi., 
occasion  also  to  show  how  much  he  stood  affected  to 
the  good  of  the  kingdom  :  besides,  he  hoped  that 
when  peace  was  established  here,  the  French  king 
might  be  tlie  more  easily  disposed  to  assist  the 
Palatine,  who  was  an  ancient  friend  and  ally  of  the 
French  crown.  His  reply  to  tliis  Mas,  '*  We  will 
have  none  of  your  advices."  Whereupon  I  said 
that  I  tO(dc  those  words  for  answer,  and  was  sorry 
only  that  tliey  did  not  understand  sufficiently  the  afiec- 
tion  and  good  will  of  the  king  my  master;  and  since 
they  rejected  it  upon  those  terms  I  had  in  charge  to 
tell  him,  that  we  knew  very  well  what  we  had  to  do. 
Luynes,  seeming  ufiended  herewith,  said, ''  Nous  ne  vous 
craignons  pas,"  or,  "We  are  not  afi'aid  of  you";  I  re- 
plied hereupon,  that  "  if  you  had  said  you  had  not  loved 


148  THE   LIFE   OF 

us,  I  should  have  believed  you,  but  should  have  returned 
you  another  answer  "  ;  in  the  mean  wliik'  that  I  had  no 
more  to  say  than  what  1  tcdd  him  f,>rmerly,  which  was 
tliat  we  knew  what  we  had  to  do.  This,  though 
somewhat  less  than  was  in  my  instructions,  so  angered 
him  that  in  macli  passion  he  said,  "  Par  Dieu,  si  vous 
n'etiez  monsieur  I'amhassadeur,  je  vous  traiterais  d'un' 
autre  sorte,"  —  "  By  God,  if  you  were  not  monsieur  am- 
bassador, I  woidd  use  you  after  another  fashion."  My 
answer  was,  that  as  I  was  an  aml>assador,  so  I  was 
also  a  gentleman;  and  therewithal  laying  my  hand 
upon  the  hilt  of  my  sword,  t(dd  him  there  was  th;;t 
which  should  make  him  an  answer,  and  so  arose  from 
my  chair;  to  which  Monsieur  de  Luynes  made  no  reply, 
but,  arising  likewise  from  his  chair,  ofiered  civilly  to 
accompany  me  to  the  door;  but  I  tcdliug  him  there 
was  no  occasicni  for  him  to  use  ceremony  after  so  rude 
an  entertainment,  I  departed  from  him.  From  thence 
returning  to  my  lodging,  I  spent  three  or  four  days 
afterwards  in  seeing  the  manner  of  the  French  disci- 
]diue  in  making  a])proaches  to  towns  ;  at  what  time  I 
n;member,  that,  going  in  my  coach  within  reach  of 
cannon,  those  in  the  town  imagining  me  to  be  an 
enemy,  made  many  shots  against  me,  which  so  af- 
frighted my  coachman  that  he  durst  drive  no  farther, 
whercui)on,  alighting,  I  bid  him  put  the  horses  out  of 
danger ;  and,  notwithstanding  many  more  shots  v/ere 
made  against  me,  went  on  to  the  trenches,  where  one 
Beat(jn,  a  Scotchman,  conducting  me,  showed  me  their 
works,  in  which  I  found  little  differing  from  the  Low 
Country  manner.  Having  satisfied  myself  in  this 
manner,  I  thought  tit  to  take  my  leave  of  the  king, 
being  at  Cognac,  the  city  of  St.  Jean  d'Angely  being 
now  surVeudered  unto  him  ;  coming  thus  to  a  village 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  149 

not  far  from  Cognac,  about  ten  of  the  clock  at  night,  I 
found  all  the  lodghigs  possessed  by  soldiers,  so  that, 
alighting  in  the  market-place,  I  sent  my  servants  to 
the  inns  to  get  some  provision,  who  bringing  me  only 
six  rye  loaves,  whicli  I  was  doubtful  whether  I  shtiujd 
])estow  on  myself  and  company  or  on  my  hoi'ses, 
]\Ionsieur  de  Fonts,  a  French  noldeman  of  the  religion, 
attended  with  a  brave  train,  hearing  of  my  being  there, 
offered  me  lodging  in  his  castle  near  adjoining  :  I  told 
liim  it  was  a  great  courtesy  at  that  time,  yet  I  could 
not  with  my  honor  accept  it,  since  I  knew  it  would  en- 
danger him,  my  business  to  those  parts  being  in  fiivor  of 
those  of  the  religion,  and  the  chief  ministers  of  state  in 
France  being  jealous  of  my  liolding  intelligence  with 
him  ;  howbeit,  if  he  would  procure  me  lodging  in  the 
t  )wn,  I  should  take  it  kindly.  Whereupon  sending  his 
servants  round  about  the  town,  he  found  at  last  in  the 
house  of  one  of  his  tenants  a  chamber,  to  which  when 
he  had  conducted  me,  and  together  gotten  some  little 
accommodation  for  myself  and  horses,  I  desired  him  to 
depart  to  his  lodgings,  he  being  then  in  a  ])lace  which 
his  enemies,  the  king's  soldiers,  had  possessed  :  all 
which  was  not  so  silently  carried  but  that  the  said 
nobleman  was  accused  afterwards  at  the  French  court 
upon  suspicion  of  holding  correspondence  Mith  me, 
wiiereof  it  was  my  fortune  to  clear  him. 

Coming  next  day  to  Cognac,  the  Marshal  de  St. 
Geran,  my  noble  fricaid,  privately  met  me,  and  said  I 
was  not  in  a  place  of  surety  there,  as  having  offended 
Monsieur  de  Luynes,  who  was  the  king's  favorite, 
desiring  me  withal  to  advise  what  1  had  to  do  :  I  told 
him  I  was  in  a  i)lace  of  suivty  ^^•he^esoever  I  had  my 
swoi-d  by  my  side,  and  that  I  intended  to  demand  audi- 
ence of  the  king ;  which  also  being  obtained,  I  found 


150  THE   LIFE   OF 

not  so  cold  a  reception  as  I  thought  to  meet  with,  in- 
soimich  that  I  parted  with  his  majesty  to  all  outward 
ajipearance  in  very  good  terms. 

From  hence  returning  to  Pai-is  shortly  after,  I  found 
myself  welcome  to  all  those  ministers  of  state  there  and 
noblemen,  who  either  envied  the  greatness,  or  loved  not 
the  insnlencies  of  Monsieur  de  Luynes ;  by  whom  also 
I  was  told  that  the  said  Luynes  had  intended  to  send  a 
brother  of  his  into  England  with  an  embassy,  the  effect 
whereof  should  be  chiefly  to  comjjlain  against  me,  and 
to  obtain  that  I  should  be  repealed;  and  that  he  in- 
tended to  relate  the  passages  betwixt  us  at  St.  Jean 
d'Angely  in  a  much  diflerent  manner  from  that  I  re- 
ported, and  that  lie  would  cliarge  me  witli  giving  the 
first  offence.  After  thanks  for  this  advertisement,  I 
told  them  my  relation  of  the  business  betwixt  us,  in 
the  manner  I  delivered,  was  true,  and  that  I  would 
justify  it  with  my  sword,  at  which  they,  being  nothing 
scandalized,  wished  me  good  fortune. 

The  ambassador  into  England  following  shortly 
after,  with  a  huge  train  in  a  sumptuous  manner, 
and  an  accusation  framed  against  me,  I  was  sent  for 
home,  of  which  I  was  glad,  my  payment  being  so 
ill  that  I  was  run  far  into  debt  with  my  merchants, 
who  had  assisted  me  now  with  tbree  or  four  thousand 
pounds  more  than  I  was  able  at  the  present  to  discharge. 
Coming  thus  to  court,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who 
was  then  iny  noble  friend,  informed  me  at  large  of 
the  objections  repi'escnted  by  the  French  ambassa- 
dor ;  to  M'hich,  when  I  had  made  my  defence  in  the 
manner  above  related,  I  added  thnt  I  ■was  ready  to 
make  good  all  that  I  had  said  willi  my  sword;  and 
shortly  after  I  did,  in  the  presence  of  his  m;ijcsty  and 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  humbly  desire  leave  to  send 


EDWARD    LORD    HERBERT.  151 

a  trumpet  to  Monsieur  de  Luynes,  to  ofFor  liiia  the 
combat  upon  terms  that  passed  betwixt  us  ;  which  was 
not  permitted,  otlierwise  than  that  they  would  take  my 
offer  into  consideration.  Howsoever,  notice  being  pub- 
licly taken  of  this  my  desire,  much  occasion  of  speech 
was  given,  every  man  tliat  heard  thereof  much  favoring 
me,  but  the  Duke  of  Luynes's  death  followiug  shortly 
after,  the  business  betwixt  us  was  ended,  and  I  com- 
manded to  return  to  my  former  chai'ge  in  France.  I 
did  not  yet  presently  go,  as  finding  mucli  difficulty  to 
obtain  the  moneys  due  me  from  the  exchequer,  and 
therewith,  as  also  by  my  own  revenues,  to  satisfy  my 
creditors  in  France.  The  Earl  of  Carlisle  *  this  while 
being  employed  extraordinary  ambassador  to  France, 
brought  home  a  confirmation  of  the  passages  betwdxt 
Monsieur  de  Luynes  and  myself;  Monsieur  de  Arnaud, 
who  stood  behind  the  hangings,  as  alxive  related,  hav- 
ing verified  all  I  said,  insomuch  that  the  king  my  mas- 
ter was  well  satisfied  of  my  truth. 

Having  by  this  time  cleared  all  my  debts,,  when  de- 
manding new  instructions  from  the  king  my  master, 
the  Earl  of  Carlisle  brought  ma  this  message,  that 
his  majesty  had  that  experience  of  my  abilities  and 
fi  Iclity,  that  he  would  give  me  no  instructions,  but 
leave  all  things  to  my  discretion,  as  knowing  I  would 
proceed  with  tliat  circumspection  as  I  should  be  better 
able  to  discern,  upon  emergent  occasions,  what  was  fit 
to  be  done,  than  that  I  should  need  to  attend  direc- 
tions from  hence  ;  which,  besides  tliat  they  would  bo 
slow,  might  perchance  be  n<  )t  so  pn  )per,  or  correspondent 
to  the  cimjuncture  of  tlie  great  afiairs  then  in  agitation, 
both  in  France  and  Germany,  and  other  parts  of  Chris- 

"■Janica    Hay,  Earl  of  Carlisle,   Kniglit   'if  tlic   Gartci-,  Master  of  tlio 
Grual  Wardroljc,  ami  AiiiljassuUor  in  Gonuany  aiul  France. 


152  THE    LIFE    OF 

tendom,  and  that  these  things  therefore  must  be  left  to 
my  vigihiuco,  prudence,  and  lidehty.  Whereupon  I 
told  his  lordship  that  I  took  this  as  a  singular  expres- 
sion of  the  trust  his  majesty  reposed  in  me ;  howbeit 
that  I  desired  his  lordship  to  pardon  me,  if  I  said  I 
had  herein  only  received  a  greater  power  and  latitude 
to  err;  and  that  I  durst  not  trust  my  judgment  so  far 
as  that  I  would  presume  to  answer  for  all  events  in 
such  foctious  and  turbulent  times,  and  therefore  again 
did  humbly  desire  new  instructions,  which  I  promised 
punctually  to  follow.  The  Earl  of  Carlisle,  returning 
hereupon  to  the  hiiig,  brought  me  yet  no  other  answer 
back  than  that  1  formerly  mentioned,  and  that  his  ma- 
jesty did  so  much  confide  in  me  that  he  would  limit  me 
with  no  other  instructions,  but  refer  all  to  my  discretion, 
promising  together,  tliat  if  matters  proceeded  not  as 
well  as  might  be  wished,  he  would  attribute  the  di  fault 
to  anything  rather  than  to  my  not  performing  my  duty. 

Finding  his  majesty  thus  resolved,  I  humbly  took 
leave  of  him,  and  my  friends  at  court,  and  went  to 
Monsieur  Savage,  when,  demanding  of  him  new  letters 
of  credit,  his  answer  was,  he  could  not  furnish  me 
as  he  had  before,  there  being  no  limited  sum  expressed 
there,  but  that  T  should  have  as  much  as  I  needed ; 
to  which,  thougli  I  answered  that  I  had  paid  all,  yet 
as  Monsieur  Savage  replied  that  I  had  nut  paid  it  at 
the  time  agreed  on,  he  said  he  could  furnish  me  with  a 
letter  only  for  three  thousand  pounds,  and  neverthe- 
less that  he  was  confident  I  sliould  have  more  if  I  re- 
quired it,  wliicb  1  found  true,  for  I  took  u])  afterwards 
upon  my  credit  there  as  much  more,  as  made  in  the 
whole  live  or  six  thousand  pounds. 

Coming  thus  to  Paris,  I  found  myself  welcomed  by 
all  the  jirincipal  persons,  nobody  that   I  found   there 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  loo 

Loing  either  offended  wth  the  passages  betvA'ixt  me  and 
Monsieur  de  Luynes,  or  that  were  sorry  for  his  death, 
in  wliich  ninnber  the  queen's  majesty  seemed  the  most 
eminent  person,  as  one  who  hing  since  had  liated  him  ; 
whereupon,  also,  I  cannot  but  rememiier  tliis  passage, 
that  in  an  audience  I  had  one  day  from  the  queen  I 
demanded  of  her  how  far  she  wouhl  have  assisted  mo 
with  her  good  offices  against  Luynes.  She  rephed, 
that  what  cause  soever  she  might  have  to  hate  him, 
either  by  reason  or  by  force,  they  wouhl  have  made 
her  to  be  of  his  side ;  to  which  I  answered  in  Spanish, 
"  No  ay  feurce  por  las  Reynas," —  ''  There  is  uo  force 
for  queens  "  ;  at  which  she  smiled. 

And  now  I  began  to  proceed  in  all  public  affairs 
according  to  the  liberty  with  which  my  master  was 
pleased  to  honor  me,  confining  myself  to  no  rules  but 
those  of  my  own  discretion.  My  negotiations  in  the 
mean  while  proving  so  successful  that,  during  the  re- 
mahider  of  my  stay  there,  his  majesty  received  much 
satisfaction  concerning  my  carriage,  as  finding  I  had 
preserved  his  hcmor  and  iuterest  in  all  great  affairs  then 
emergent  in  France,  Germany,  and  other  parts  of 
Christendom  ;  which  work,  being  of  great  concernment, 
I  found  the  easier,  that  his  majesty's  ambassadors  and 
agents  everywhere  gave  me  perfect  intelligence  of  all 
t'lat  happened  within  their  precincts,  insomuch  that 
fi-om  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  his  majesty's  ambassador  at 
^^enice,  who  was  a  learned  and  witty  gentleman,  I  re- 
ceived all  the  news  of  Italy;  as  also  from  Sir  Isaac 
Wake,  who  did  more  ])articularly  acquaint  me  with  the 
business  of  Savoy,*  Valentina,  and  Switzerland  ;  from 
Sir  Francis  Netherscde,  his  majesty's  agent  in  Ger- 
many, and  more  particularly  with  the  united  princes 

»  Tlic  Valteline. 


154  THE   LIFE   OF 

there,  on  the  behalf  of  his  son-in-Liw,  the  pahitiue  or 
Kiiii;-  of  Rolieniia,  I  received  all  the  news  of  Germany  ; 
from  Sir  Dudley  Carlton,  lii.s  majesty's  ambassador  in 
the  Low  Countries,  I  received  intelligence  concerning 
all   the  afiairs  of  that  state ;    and  fr>im  Mr.  William 
Trumball,    bis   majesty's    agent  at  Brussels,    all    the 
affitirs  on  that  side  :  and  lastly,  from  Sir  Walter  Aston, 
his  majesty's  ambassadtir  in  Sjiain,  and  after  him  fi-om 
the  Earl  of  Bristol  and  Lord  Cottington,  I  had  intelli- 
gence from  the  Spanish  court ;  t)ut  of  all  whose  rela- 
tions, being  compared  together,  I  found  matter  enough 
to   direct   my   judgment   in   all    public    proceedings; 
besides,  in  Paris  I  had  the    chief  iutelhgence   which 
came   to    either    Monsieur   de    Langherac,    the    Low 
Country  ambassador,    or  Monsieur  Postek,  agent  for 
the  united  princes  in  Germany,  and  Signor  Contarini, 
amliassador  for   Venice,    and  "Signor    Guiscardi,     my 
particular    friend,   agent    for   Mantua,    and    Monsieur 
Gucretin,  agent  for  the  palatine  or  King  of  l^ohemia, 
and   Monsieur  Villers,   for  the   Suisse,   and    Monsieur 
Aiuoraut,  agent  for  Geneva,  by  whose  means,  upon  the 
rcsultance  of  the  severah  advertisements  given  me,  I 
found  what  I  had  to  do. 

The  wars  in  Germany  were  now  hot,  when  several 
French  gentlemen  came  to  me  foi-  reconnneudations  to 
the  Queen  of  Bohemia,  whose  service  they  desired  to 
advance,  which  also  I  performed  as  efl'ectually  as  I 
could  ;  howbeit,  as  after  the  battle  of  Prague,  the  hn- 
perial  side  seemed  wh<dly  to  prevail,  these  gentlemen 
had  not  the  satisfaction  ex])ected.  About  this  time,  the 
Duke  de  Crony,  emph)yed  from  Brussels  to  the  French 
court,  coming  to  see  tiie,  said  by  way  of  rhodomon- 
tadc,  as  thougli  he  would  not  speak  of  our  isles,  yet  he 
saw  all   the   rest  of  the    world   must   bow    under  the 


EDWARD    LOFtD     HERBERT.  155 

Spaniard;  to  which  I  answered,  "God  be  thanlved 
tliey  are  not  yet  coine  to  tliat  pass,  or  when  tliey  M-ere, 
they  liave  this  yet  to  comfort  them,  that  at  worst  they 
should  be  but  tlie  same  which  you  ai'e  now  " ;  whit-h 
speecli  of  mine,  being  afterwards,  I  know  not  liow,  di- 
vulged, was  much  applauded  by  the  French,  as  believ- 
ing I  intended  that  other  countries  should  be  but  under 
the  same  severe  government  to  which  tlie  Duke  of 
Crouy  and  those  within  tlie  Sjjanish  doniiniuiis  were 
subject. 

It  happened,  one  day,  that  the  agent  from  Brussels 
and  ambassador  from  the  Low  Countries  came  to  see 
me  immediately  one  after  the  other,  to  whom  I  said 
familiarly,  that  I  thought  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
parts  of  the  seventeen  provinces  which  were  under  the 
Spaniards  might  be  compared  to  horses  in  a  stable, 
which,  as  they  were  finely  curried,  dressed,  and  fed,  so 
they  were  well  ridden  also,  spurred  and  galled  ;  and 
that  I  thought  the  Low  Country  men  were  like  to 
horses  at  grass,  which,  though  they  wanted  so  good 
keeping  as  the  other  had,  yet  might  leaj),  kick,  and 
fling,  as  much  as  they  would :  which  freedom  of  mine 
displeased  neither  ;  or  if  the  Low  Country  ambassador 
did  think  I  had  spoken  a  little  too  sharply,  I  ])leased 
him  afterwards,  when,  continuing  my  discourse,  I  told 
him  that  the  states  of  the  united  provinces  had  within 
a  narrow  room  shut  up  so  much  warlike  [irovision  both 
by  sea  and  land,  and  together  demonstrated  such  cour- 
age upon  all  occasions,  that  it  seemed  they  had  more 
need  of  enemies  than  of  friends,  which  compliment  I 
found  did  please  him. 

About  tliis  time,  the  French  being  jealous  that  the 
king  my  master  would  matcli  the  prince  his  son  with 
tiie  King  of  Spain's  sioter,  and  together  r<'lin([uish  his 


156  THE   LIFE   OF 

alliance  with  France,  myself,  who  did  endeavor  nothing 
more  than  to  hold  all  good  intelligence  Letwixt  the  tv,-o 
crowns,  had  enough  to  do.  The  Count  de  Gondomor, 
passing  now  from  f^pain  into  England,  came  to  see  me 
at  Paris,  about  ten  of  the  clock  in  the  mdrning,  when, 
after  some  compliments,  he  told  me  that  he  was  to  go 
towards  England  the  next  morning,  and  that  he  de- 
sired my  coach  to  accompany  him  out  of  town.  I  told 
him  after  a  free  and  merry  manner  he  should  not  have 
my  coach,  and  that  if  lie  demanded  it,  it  was  not 
because  he  needed  coaches,  the  pope's  nuncio,  the 
emperor's  ambassador,  the  Duke  of  Bavaria's  agent, 
and  others  having  coaches  enough  to  furnish  him,  but 
because  he  would  put  a  jealousy  betwixt  me  and  the 
French,  as  it  I  inclined  more  to  the  Spanish  side  than 
to  theirs.  C4ondomor  then,  looking  merrily  upon  me, 
said,  "  I  will  dine  with  you  yet."  I  told  him,  by  his 
good  favor,  he  should  not  dine  with  me  at  that  time, 
and  that  when  I  would  entertain  the  ambassador  of  so 
great  a  king  as  his,  it  should  not  be  upon  my  ordinary, 
but  that  I  would  make  him  a  feast  worthy  of  so  great 
a  person;  howbeit,  that  he  might  see  after  what  man- 
ner I  lived,  I  desired  some  of  my  gentlemen  to  bring 
his  gentlemen  into  the  kitchen,  where,  after  my  usual 
manner,  were  three  spits  full  of  meat,  divers  pots  of 
boiled  meat,  and  an  oven  with  store  of  pies  in  it,  and 
a  dresser  board  covered  with  all  manner  of  good  fowl, 
and  some  tarts,  pans  with  tarts  in  them,  after  the 
French  manner  ;  after  which,  being  conducted  to  an- 
other room,  they  were  showed  a  dozen  or  sixteen  dishes 
of  sweetmeats,  all  which  was  but  the  ordinary  allow- 
ance for  my  table.  The  Spaniards,  returning  now  to 
Gondomor,  told  him  what  good  cheer  they  found,  not- 
withstanding which,   I  told  Gondomor  again  tbat  I 


EDWARD   LORD   HERBERT.  157 

desired  to  be  excused,  if  I  thought  this  dinner  un- 
worthy of  him,  and  that  when  occasion  were,  I  should 
entertain  him  after  a  mucli  better  manner.  Gondomor 
hereupon,  coming  near  me,  said  he  esteemed  me  much 
and  that  he  meant  only  to  put  a  trick  upon  me,  which 
he  found  I  had  discovered,  and  that  he  thought  that  an 
Englishman  had  not  known  how  to  avoid  handsomely 
a  trick  put  upon  him  under  show  of  civility ;  and  that 
I  ever  should  find  him  my  friend,  and  would  do  me 
all  the  good  offices  he  could  in  England,  which  also  ho 
really  perfonned,  as  the  Duke  of  Lenox  and  the  Earl 
of  Pembroke  confirmed  t(t  me  ;  Gondomor  saying  to 
them,  tliat  I  was  a  man  iit  for  employment,  and  that 
he  thought  Englishmen,  though  otherwise  able  per- 
sons, knew  not  h<jw  to  make  a  denial  handsomely, 
which  yet  I  had  done. 

This  Gondomor,  being  an  able  person,  and  dexter- 
ous in  his  negotiations,  had  so  prevailed  with  King 
James,  that  his  majesty  resolved  to  pursue  his  treaty 
with  Si)ain,  and  for  that  purpose  to  send  his  son,  Prince 
Charles,  in  person  to  ct)nclude  the  match  ;  when,  after 
some  debate  whether  he  should  go  in  a  public  or  pri- 
vate manner,  it  was  at  last  resolved  that  he,  attended 
with  the  Marquis  of  Buckingham  and  Sir  Francis  Cot- 
tiiigton,  his  secretary,  and  Endimion  Porter,  and  Mr. 
Grimes,  gentleman  of  the  horse  to  the  marquis,  should 
pass  in  a  disguised  and  private  manner  through  France 
to  Madrid;  these  five  passing,  though  not  without  some 
difficulty,  from  Dover  to  Boulogne,  where  taking  post 
horses  they  came  to  Paris,  and  lodged  at  an  inn  in 
Rue  St.  Jacques,  where  it  was  advised  amongst  them 
whether  they  should  send  for  me  to  attend  them.  After 
some  dispute  it  was  concluded  in  the  negative,  since, 
as  one  there  objected,  if  I  came  alone  in  the  quality 


158  THE   LIFE    OF 

of  a  private  person,  I  must  go  on  foot  throiigli  the 
streets,  and  because  I  was  a  person  generally  known, 
might  be  followed  by  some  one  or  other,  who  would 
discover  whither  my  privat*'  visit  tended,  besides  that 
those  in  the  inn  must  needs  take  notice  of  my  coming 
in  that  manner ;  on  the  other  side,  if  I  came  publicly 
with  my  usual  train,  tlie  gentlemen  with  me  must  needs 
take  notice  of  the  prince  and  Marquis  of  Buckingham, 
and  consequently  might  divulge  it,  which  was  thought 
not  to  stand  with  the  prince's  safety,  \A'ho  endeavored 
to  keep  his  jnurney  as  secret  as  possilde ;  hoAvboit, 
the  prince  spent  the  day  fVdlowing  his  arrival  in  seeing 
the  French  court  and  city  of  Paris,  without  that  any- 
body did  kn()w  his  person,  but  a  maid  that  had  sold 
linen  heretdfore  in  London,  who,  seeing  him  pass  by, 
said,  "Certainly  this  is  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  but 
withal  suffered  him  to  li(dd  his  way,  and  presumed  not 
to  follow  him.  The  next  day  after  they  took  post 
horses  and  held  their  way  towards  Bayonne,  a  city  fron- 
tier to  Spain. 

The  first  notice  that  came  to  me  was  by  one  Andrews, 
a  Scotchman,  who,  coming  late  the  night  preceding 
their  departure,  demanded  whether  I  had  seen  tlio 
prince.  When  I  demanding  what  prince,  "for,"  said 
I,  "the  Prince  of  Conde  is  yet  in  Italy,"  he  told  mc 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  which  yet  I  could  not  believe 
easily,  until  with  many  oaths  he  affirmed  the  prince 
was  in  France,  and  that  he  had  charge  to  follow  lii^5 
highness,  desiring  me  in  the  mean  while,  on  the  part 
of  the  kinsj  my  master,  to  serve  his  passage  the  best  I 
could.  This  made  me  rise  very  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  go  to  Monsieur  Puisieux,  principal  secretary 
of  state,  to  demand  present  audience.  Puisieux  here- 
upon entreated  me  to  stay  an  hour,  since  he  was  in  bed. 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  159 

and  had  some  earnest  business  to  despatch  for  the  king 
his  mastei'  as  soon  as  ho  was  ready.  I  returned  answer 
that  I  could  not  stay  a  minute,  and  that  I  desired  I 
might  come  to  his  bedside:  this  made  Puisieux  rise 
and  put  on  his  gown  only,  and  so  came  to  the  cham- 
ber, where  I  attended  him.  His  first  words  to  me  were, 
''  I  know  your  business  as  well  as  you;  ynur  prince  is 
departed  this  morning  post  t()  Spain"  ;  adding  further, 
that  I  could  demand  nothing  for  the  security  of  his 
passage  but  it  should  be  presently  granted,  conclud- 
ing with  these  very  words,  "Vous  serez  servi  au  jxtint 
nomme,"  or,  "  You  ^;hall  be  served  in  any  particular  you 
can  name."  I  told  him  that  liis  free  offer  Iia  I  [irevented 
the  request  1  intended  to  make,  and  that,  because  he 
was  so  principal  a  minister  of  state,  I  doubted  not  but 
what  he  had  so  nobly  promised  he  would  see  punctually 
performed ;  as  for  the  security  of  his  passage,  that  I 
did  not  see  what  I  CDuId  demand  mure  tlian  that  lie 
would  suffer  him  quietly  to  Imld  his  way,  without  send- 
ing after  or  interrupting  him.  He  replied  that  the 
prince  should  not  be  interrui)ted,  thougli  yet  he  could 
do  no  less  than  send  to  know  what  success  the  prince 
had  in  his  journey.  I  was  no  sooner  returned  out  of 
his  chamber  but  I  despatched  a  letter  by  post  to  the 
prince,  to  desire  him  to  make  all  the  haste  he  could  out 
of  France,  and  not  to  treat  with  any  of  the  religion  in 
the  way,  since  his  being  at  Paris  was  known,  and  that 
though  the  French  secretary  had  promised  he  should 
not  be  interrupted,  yet  that  they  would  send  after  liis 
highness,  and  when  he  gave  any  occasion  of  suspicion 
might  perchance  detain  him.  The  prince,  after  some 
examination  at  Bayonne  (which  the  governor  thereof 
did  afterwards  particularly  relate  to  me,  confessing  that 
he  did  not  know  who  the  prince  was),  held  his  way  on 


IGO  THE   LIFE   OF 

to  Madrid,  whore  he  and  all  his  company  safely  arrived. 
Many  of  the  nohility  and  others  of  the  English  court, 
being  now  desirous  to  see  the  prince,  did  pass  through 
Franc(?  to  Spain,  taking  my  lK)Use  still  in  their  way,  hy 
whom  I  acipiainted  his  highness  in  Spain  how  much 
it  grieved  me  that  I  had  not  seen  his  highness  when  he 
was  in  Paris  ;  which  occasioned  his  highness  afterwards 
to  write  a  letter  to  me,  M-holly  with  his  own  hand,  and 
subscribe  his  name,  ''Your  friend  Charles,"  in  which 
he  did  abundantly  satisfy  all  the  uukindness  I  might 
conceive  on  this  occasicm. 

I  shall  not  enter  into  a  narration  of  the  passages 
occuiTing  in  the  Spanish  court,  upon  his  highness's 
an-ival  thither,  though  they  were  well  known  to  me  for 
the  most  part,  by  the  information  the  French  quec  u 
was  pleased  to  give  me,  who,  among  other  things,  told 
me  that  her  sister  did  wish  well  unto  the  prince.  I  had 
from  her  also  intelligence  of  certain  messages  sent  from 
Si)ain  to  the  pope,  and  the  pope's  messages  to  them  ; 
W'hereof,  by  her  permission,  I  did  afterwards  inform  his 
highness.  Many  judgments  were  now  made  concerning 
the  event  which  this  treaty  of  marriage  was  likely  to 
have  ;  the  Duke  of  Savoy  said  that  the  prince's  jounicy 
thither  was  "  un  tiro  di  quelli  cavalieri  antichi  che  an- 
davano  cosi  per  il  niondo  a  disfare  li  incanti,"  —  that  it 
was  "  a  trick  of  tliose  ancient  knight  erraiits,  who  went 
up  and  down  the  Wdrld  after  that  manni'r  to  undo  en- 
chantments "  ;  for,  as  that  duke  did  heheve  that  the 
Spaniard  did  intend  finally  to  bestow  her  on  the  im- 
perial house,  he  conceived  that  he  did  only  entertain 
the  treaty  with  England,  because  he  might  avert  tlie 
king  my  master  from  treating  in  any  other  })lace,  and 
particularly  in  France  ;  howbeit,  by  the  intelligence  I 
received  in  Paris,  which  1  am  contident  was  very  good, 


EDWARD   LORD    HERBERT.  161 

I  am  assured  the  Spaniard  meant  really  at  tliat  time, 
though  how  the  match  was  broken,  I  list  not  here  to 
relate,  it  being  a  more  perplexed  and  secret  business 
than  I  am  willing  to  insert  into  the  narration  of  my 
Ufa. 

New  propositions  being  now  made,  and  other  coun- 
sels thereupon  given,  the  prince,  taking  his  leave  of  the 
Spanish  court,  came  to'  St.  Andrew's  in  Spain,  where, 
shipping  himself  with  his  train,  arrived  safely  at  Ports- 
mouth about  the  beginning  of  October,  1623  ;  the  news 
•wdiereof  being  shortly  brought  into  France,  the  Duke 
of  Guise  came  to  me,  and  said  he  found  the  Spaniards 
were  not  so  able  men  as  he  thought,  since  they  had 
neither  married  the  prince  in  their  country,  nor  done 
anything  to  break  his  match  elsewhere.  I  answered 
that  the  prince  was  more  dexterous  than  that  any  secret 
practice  of  theirs  could  be  put  upon  him ;  and  as  for 
violence,  I  thouglit  the  Spaniard  durst  not  offer  it. 

The  war  against  those  of  the  religion  continuing  in 
France,  Pere  Segnerand,  confessor  to  the  king,  made  a 
sermon  before  his  majesty  upon  the  text,  '*  That  we 
should  forgive  our  enemies  "  ;  upon  which  argument, 
having  said  many  good  things,  he  at  last  distinguished 
forgiveness,  and  said  we  were  indeed  to  forgive  our 
enemies,  but  not  tlie  enemies  of  God,  such  as  were 
heretics,  and  particularly  those  of  the  religion ;  and 
that  his  majesty,  as  the  most  Christian  king,  ought  to 
extirpate  them  wheresoever  they  could  he  found.  This 
particular  being  related  to  me,  I  tliought  fit  to  go  to 
the  queen  mother  without  farther  ceremony,  for  she 
gave  me  leave  to  come  to  her  chamber  whensoever  I 
would,  without  demanding  audience,  and  to  tell  her 
that  thougli  I  did  not  usually  intermeddle  with  matters 
handled  within  their  ])ulpits,  yet  because  Pere  Segne- 


162  THE  LIFE   OF 

rand,  who  had  the  charge  of  the  Iviug's  conscience, 
had  spoken  so  violently  against  those  of  the  religion 
that  his  doctrine  was  not  limited  only  to  France,  hut 
might  extend  itself  in  its  consequences  beyond  the  seas, 
even  to  the  dominions  of  the  king  my  master,  I  could 
not  but  think  it  very  unreasonable,  and  the  rather, 
that,  as  her  majesty  well  Icnew,  a  treaty  of  marriage 
betwixt  our  prince  and  the  princess  her  daughter  was 
now  begun,  for  which  reason  I  could  do  no  less  tlian 
humbly  desire  that  such  doctrines  as  these  henceforth 
might  be  silenced,  by  some  discreet  admonition  she 
might  be  pleased  to  give  to  Pere  Segnerand,  or  others 
that  might  speak  to  this  purpose.  The  queen,  though 
she  seemed  very  willingly  to  hear  me,  yet  handled  the 
business  so  that  Pere  Segnerand  was  together  informed 
who  had  made  this  complaint  against  him,  whereupon 
also  he  was  so  distempered,  that  by  one  Monsieur 
Gaellac,  a  Provencal,  his  own  countryman,  he  sent  me 
this  message,  that  he  knew  well  who  had  accused 
him  to  lier  majesty,  and  that  he  was  sensible  thereof; 
that  he  wished  me  to  be  assured  that  wheresoever  I 
was  in  the  world,  he  would  liinder  my  fortune.  The 
answer  I  returned  by  Monsieur  Gaellac  was,  that 
nothing  in  all  France  but  a  friar  or  a  woman  durst 
have  sent  me  such  a  message. 

Shortly  after  this,  coming  again  to  the  queen  mother, 
I  told  licr  that  wliat  1  said  concerning  Pere  Segnerand 
was  spoken  with  a  good  intention,  and  that  my  words 
were  now  discovered  to  him  in  that  manner  that  he 
sent  me  a  very  aifronting  message,  adding  after  a  merry 
fasliion  theses  words,  that  I  tlioiight  Segnerand  so  ma- 
licious tliat  his  malice  M'as  beyond  the  malice  of  women. 
The  queen,  lu'lng  a  little  started  hereat,  said,  "A  moi 
fenune  et  parler  ainsi  t " — '  *  To  me  a  woi  nan  and  say  so  ?  " 


EDWARD    LORD   HERBERT.  1G3 

I  replied  gently,  "  Je  parle  a  votre  majeste  comme 
reine  et  non  pas  comme  femme,"  —  "  I  speak  to  your 
majesty  as  a  queen  and  not  as  a  woman,"  and  so  took 
my  leave  of  her.  What  Pere  Segnerand  did  after- 
wards, in  way  of  performing  his  threat,  I  know  not; 
but  sure  I  am  that,  had  I  been  ambitious  of  worldly 
greatness,  I  miglit  have  often  remembered  his  words ; 
though,  as  I  ever  loved  my  book  and  a  i)rivate  life 
more  than  any  busy  preferments,  I  did  frustrate  and 
render  vain  his  greatest  power  to  hurt  me. 

My  book  ''  De  Veritate  prout  distinguitur  a  Revela- 
tione  verisimili,  possibili,  et  a  filso,"  having  been 
begun  by  me  in  England,  and  formed  there  in  all  its 
principal  parts,  was  al>out  this  time  finished ;  all  the 
spare  hours  which  I  could  get  from  my  visits  and  ne- 
gotiations being  employed  to  peifect  this  work,  which 
was  no  sooner  d(.>ne  but  that  I  communicated  it  to 
Hugo  Grotius,  that  great  scliolar,  who,  having  escaped 
liis  prison  in  the  Low  Countries,  came  into  France,  and 
was  much  welcomed  by  me  and  Monsieur  Tieleners* 
also,  one  of  the  greatest  scholars  of  his  time,  who, 
after  they  had  perused  it,  and  given  it  more  commenda- 
tions than  is  tit  f  )r  me  to  repeat,  exhorted  me  earnestly 
to  print  and  publish  it ;  howbeit,  as  the  frame  of  my 
whole  book  was  so  different  from  anything  which  had 
been  written  heretof»re,  I  found  I  must  either  re- 
nounce  the    authority    of  all   that   had   written   for- 

*  In  the  little  l)Ook  of  Lord  IlLn-ltert's  verses,  published  after  his  death, 
is  a  copy  addressed  "To  Tileiius  after  the  fatal  delluxion  upon  my  arm." 
Danit-l  Tilenus  was  a  tlieoloj^ic  writer  of  that  time.  He  wrote  ahout 
Antiehrist  and  animadversions  ou  the  Synod  of  Dort  ;  some  of  his  works 
were  published  at  Paris.  He  was,  however,  a  Silesian,  and  his  true  name 
niiglit  be  Tieleners,  Latinized  into  Tilenus,  according  to  tlie  pedantry  of 
tliat  time  ;  as  Groot  was  called  Grotius,  the  similitude  of  whose  studies 
might  well  connect  him  with  Tieleners. 


16-i  THE   LIFE   OF 

nierly,  concerning  the  method  of  finding  out  truth,  and 
contse([ueutly  insist  upon  my  own  way,  or  hazard  my- 
self to  a  general  censure,  concerning  the  whole  argu- 
ment of  my  hook ;  I  must  confess  it  did  not  a  little 
animate  me  that  the  two  great  persons  ahove  men- 
tioned did  so  highly  value  it,  yet  as  I  knew  it  would 
meet  with  much  opposition,  I  did  consider  whether  it 
was  not  better  for  me  for  a  while  to  suppress  it.  Being 
thus  doubtful  in  my  chamber,  one  fair  day  in  the  sum- 
mer, my  casement  being  opened  towards  the  south,  the 
sun  sliining  clear  and  no  wind  stirring,  I  took  my  book 
"  De  Veritate"  in  my  hand,  and  kneeling  on  my 
knees  devoutly  said  these  words  :  — 

"  0  thou  eternal  God,  author  of  the  light  which  now  shines 
upon  mc,  and  giver  of  all  inward  illuminations,  I  do  beseech 
thee  of  thy  infinite  goodness  to  pardon  a  greater  request  than  a 
sinner  ought  to  make  :  I  am  not  satisfied  enough  whether  I  shall 
publish  this  book  '  De  Veritate ' ;  if  it  be  fbr  thy  glory,  I  be- 
seech Ihee  give  me  some  sign  from  heaven  ;  if  not,  1  shall  sup- 
press it." 

I  had  no  sooner  spoken  these  words,  but  a  loud  though 
yet  gentle  noise  came  from  the  heavens,  for  it  was  like 
nothing  on  earth,  which  did  so  comfort  and  cheer  me 
that  I  took  ray  petition  as  granted,  and  that  I  had  the 
sign  I  demanded,  whereupon  also  I  resolved  to  print 
my  book.  This,  how  strange  soever  it  may  seem,  I 
protest  before  the  eternal  God  is  true,  neither  am  I  any 
way  superstitiously  deceived  herein,  since  I  did  not  only 
clearly  hear  the  noise,  but  in  the  serenest  sky  that  ever 
I  saw,  being  without  all  cloud,  did  to  my  thinking  see 
the  place  from  whence  it  came. 

And  now  I  sent  my  book  to  be  printed  in  Paris,  at 
my  own  cost  and  charges,  v/ithout  suliering  it  to  be 


EDWARD   LOKD    HERBERT. 


165 


divulged  to  others  than  to  such  as  I  thought  might  be 
worthy  readers  of  it ;  though  afterwards  reprinting  it 
ia  England,  I  not  only  dispersed  it  among  the  prime 
scholars  of  Euru[)e,  but  was  sent  to,  not  only  from  the 
nearest,  but  farthest  parts  of  Christendom,  to  desire 
the  sight  of  my  book,  for  which  they  jiromised  any- 
thing I  should  desire  by  way  of  return,  but  heix'of 
more  amply  in  its  place. 

The  treaty  of  a  matcli  with  France  continuing  still, 
it  was  thought  fit  for  the  concluding  thereof  that  the 
Earl  of  Carlisle  and  the  Earl  of  Holland  should  be  sent 
extraordinary  ambassadors  to  France. 

N.  B.  The  notes  to  the  foregoing  narrative  are  fi'om  the 
Easlish  edition. 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS   ELLWOOD. 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD. 


TIE  autlior  of  the  following  autobiography 
lias  the  doubtful  glory  of  having  suggested 
one  of  the  most  unread  epics  in  the  English 
language.  He  was  some  time  a  student  of 
Latin  with  John  Milton,  ''a  gentleman  of  great  note 
for  learning,  throughout  the  learned  world,  for  the 
accurate  pieces  he  has  written  on  various  subjects  and 
occasions,"  of  whose  wise  and  subtile  manner  of  teach- 
ing the  language  his  student  gives  a  curious  account. 
Several  years  after  the  stormy  events  of  the  young 
Quaker's  life  had  parted  him  from  this  learned  gentle- 
man, they  were  again  brought  into  each  other's 
neighborhood,  when  Master  Milton  gave  Ellwood,  to 
read,  a  manuscrii)t  of  his,  — a  certain  poem  which  he 
had  called  "Paradise  Lost." 

"  After  I  had,  with  the  best  attention,  read  it  through, 
I  made  him  another  visit,  and  returned  liim  his  book, 
with  due  acknowledgment  of  the  favor  he  had  done 
me  in  communicatinii;  it  to  me.  He  asked  me  how  I 
liked  it,  and  what  I  tliought  of  it,  which  I  niodestly 
but  freely  told  liim  ;  and  after  some  further  discourse 
about  it,  I  pleasantly  said  to  him,  '  Thou   hast  said 


170  THOMAS   ELLWOOD. 

much  here  of  Paradise  Lost,  but  what  hast  thou  to 
say  of  Paradise  Found  f^  He  made  me  no  answer, 
hut  sat  some  time  in  a  muse ;  then  brake  off  that  dis- 
course, and  fell  upon  another  subject.  After  the  sick- 
ness was  over,  and  the  city  well  cleansed,  and  become 
safely  habitable  again,  he  returned  thither.  And 
when  afterwards  I  went  to  wait  on  him  there,  which  I 
seldom  failed  of  doing  w-henever  my  occasions  drew 
me  to  London,  he  showed  me  his  second  poem,  called 
'  Paradise  Regained,'  and  in  a  pleasant  tone  said  to  me, 
'  This  is  owing  to  you,  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by 
the  question  you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont,  which  before 
I  had  not  thought  of.' " 

Those  who  bear  honest  EllvA'ood  a  grudge  for  the 
disservice  he  thus  did  literature  and  a  great  poet,  will 
do  well  to  read  his  sketch  of  his  own  life,  which  they 
will  find  full  of  such  entertaiuing  matter,  such  right 
feeling,  and  such  good  sense,  that  they  cannot  help 
forgiving  him.  The  writings  of  his  sect  are  apt  to 
have  a  certain  unintentional  delight  for  the  world's 
people  ;  Charles  I^amb  held  John  Woolman"s  Journal 
to  be  one  of  the  most  humorous  books  in  our  tongue, 
and  Sewall's  "  History  of  the  Peoj.le  called  Quakers  " 
is  far  from  being  the  serious  work  it  appears,  especially 
in  its  grave  recital  of  the  exploits  and  sufferings  of 
early  Quakers  who  broke  pitchers  and  tore  caps  in 
pieces  before  magistrates  as  a  sign  of  what  fate 
awaited  misrule,  or  who  symbohzed  in  their  persons 
the  spiritual  nakedness  of  Christendom  for  a  testimony 
•against  it ;  nor  is  the  "  Life  of  Thomas  Ellwood"  an  ex- 
ception to  the  general  rule.  There  is  something  in- 
evitably amusing  in  many  features  of  the  martyrdom 
which  he  began  to  undergo  at  the  hands  of  the  sturdy 
Puritan    magistrate,    his    father,    wdien    he    put    off 


THOMAS   ELL  WOOD,  171 

laces,  ribbons,  and  useless  buttons  from  liis  garments, 
and  corresponding  fripperies  from  liis  speech  and 
manner,  and  became  a  declared  and  zealous  Quaker. 
The  story  of  '' wliirrets"  upon  tlie  ear  for  liis  use  of 
the  plain  language,  and  of  hats  snatched  from  his  head, 
thrown  away  and  utterly  lost  in  his  efforts  to  remain 
covered  in  liis  fatlier's  iireseuce,  is  one  which  it  were 
hard  to  read  with  a  grave  face  ;  and  surely  that  account 
fif  the  fiitlaer's  ])ausing  from  family  prayer  to  fall  in 
controversy  upon  the  Quaker  son  with  fist  and  caiie, 
belongs,  however  deplorable  as  an  instance  of  human 
infirmity  of  temper,  rather  to  the  comic  than  the  tragic 
side  of  the  tale  of  religious  persecutions.  But  let  no 
one  imagine  a  prevailing  absurdity  in  Thomas  Ell- 
wood's  life  ;  he  was  a  man  whom  every  reader  must 
heartily  respect  and  honor.  He  was  incurruptibly 
true  and  unimpeachably  brave,  and  he  suffered  for  his 
faith  outrage  and  injustice  with  saintly  patience  and 
manly  strength.  Again  and  again  he  was  seized  and 
cast  into  prison  without  cause  ;  every  ruffian  and  cow- 
ard felt  free  to  insult  the  gallant  youth  who  had  once 
been  so  quick  with  his  sword.  If  the  reader  will 
know  how,  without  striking  a  blow,  a  man  of  courage 
may  make  knightly  defence  of  a  lady,  let  him  turn  to 
Ell  wood's  modest  account  of  how  he  protected  the 
beautiful  Guli  Pennington,  afterwards  the  wife  of 
William  Penn,  from  the  rudeness  of  some  drunken 
troopers  ;  and  if  he  will  learn  how  a  true  man  is 
always  efficiently  a  man,  let  him  compare  the  quiet 
fearlessness  of  Ell  wood  in  moments  of  peril  witli  the 
valor  of  Lord  Herbert,  which  he  will  find  iluly  cele- 
brated by  his  lordsliii)  in  the  first  half  of  this  book. 
The  Quaker  will  sufi'er  nothing  by  contrast  with  the 
cavalier. 


172  THOMAS   ELLWOOD. 

It  is  the  great  merit  of  Quakerism  that  it  divined  the 
essential  democracy  oi  Christianity  in  an  age  M^hen 
democracy  was  so  unknoMni  in  churcli  or  state  as 
hardly  to  have  a  name,  and  asserted  the  equality  of 
all  human  spirits.  The  principle  which  influenced 
George  Fox  to  refuse  hat-honor  and  remain  covered 
in  every  presence,  and  to  give  the  plaiu  thee  and  thou 
to  each  person,  no  matter  of  what  station,  may  not 
have  been  the  revelation  he  thought  it,  hut  it  had  the 
living  truth  in  it,  and  it  must  yet  rule  the  world. 
Quakerism  had  its  own  follies  and  excesses,  hut  it 
swept  more  nonsense  out  of  the  heads  and  hearts 
that  received  it  than  the  rest  of  the  Avorld  has  yet 
begun  to  be  rid  of,  or  is  like  to  be  for  some  ages 
to  come.  A  man  put  oif  with  his  useless  buttons  all 
idle  and  foolish  conventions,  and  recognized  himself  as 
the  e(pial  of  other  men  ;  he  sp()ke  the  simple  truth, 
and  he  worshipped  honest  labor  by  toiling  at  any  trade 
without  a  sense  of  dishonor.  Because  we  are  so  glib 
in  declaring  our  belief  in  the  dignity  fif  labor,  we  fancy 
ourselves  in  advance  of  the  Quakers  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago  ;  but  the  democrats  among  us  who 
would  not  think  it  sorrow  and  shame  to  be  forced  to 
work  for  their  bread  with  their  hands  are  far  fewer 
than  the  sect  who  discovered  Democratic  Christianity. 
Elhvood  was  by  birth  a  gentleman,  yet  when  he  was 
in  prison  with  many  other  Quakers,  he  was  glad  to 
learn  the  art  of  tailoring  from  one  of  his  brother 
sectaries,  and  he  labored  diligently  at  it  as  long  as  he 
remained  there  ;  "  spending  those  leisure  hours  with, 
innocency  and  jdeasure,  which  want  of  business  would 
have  made  tedious."  All  impulses,  good  or  bad,  exhaust 
themselves,  and  Quakerism  seems  now  in  its  last  days, 
but  those  who  love  to  believe  that  men  shall  some- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  173 

time  dwell  in  peace  and  nnity,  througli  a  sense  of  their 
essential  equality,  cannot  read  the  history  of  that 
belief  without  renewed  courage.  It  will  be  well  for 
them  too  if  they  can  perceive  that  democracy  only 
becomes  vital  when  it  is  a  religion  as  well  as  a  policy. 
The  name  of  Ellwood  has,  aside  fi-om  all  this,  some 
interest  for  Americans  through  his  connection  with  the 
family  of  the  lovely  lady  whom  William  Peun  married, 
and  with  whom  Ellwood  himself  was  at  one  time  re- 
puted to  be  in  love.  She  was  the  daugliter  of  a  brave 
officer  of  the  Connnonwealth,  and  it  was  through  her 
example  and  that  of  her  mother  and  ste])fatlier  that 
Ellwood  w-as  first  brcnight  to  a  belief  in  Quakerism. 
He  and  '' Mary  Peniiigton's  fair  daughter  Guli  "  had 
been  children  togetlier,  and  notliing  can  be  prettier 
than  his  telling  how,  after  the  Peningtons'  conver- 
sion, and  while  Ellwood  was  yet  of  the  world,  he  found 
Guli  in  her  garden  with  her  maid  gathering  fiowers, 
and  on  attempting  ''  to  engage  her  in  some  discourse 
which  might  introduce  conversation  on  the  foot  of  their 
f  )rmer  acquaintance,  ....  a  free,  debonair,  courtly  sort 
of  behavior,  ....  young  as  she  was,  the  gravity  of 
her  look  and  behavior  struck  such  an  awe  upon  him,'' 
that  though  "  she  treated  him  with  a  courteous  mien" 
he  fell  silent,  and  asked  pardon  for  his  boldness.  Their 
gentle  and  tender  fricndsliip  seems  only  to  have  had  the 
color  of  fraternal  aflection,  but  they  remained  much 
attached  as  long  as  she  lived,  her  death  hapi)ening  not 
long  after  her  husband's  release  from  imj)ris(jnment 
under  William  and  Mary.  Mrs.  Maria  Webl)'s  book, 
*'  The  Penns  and  Peningtons  of  the  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury in  their  Domestic  and  Religious  TJfe  "  (London, 
18G7),  presents  many  interesting  notices  of  this  ad- 
mirable   lady,  with   several    of    her    letters    hitherto 


174  THOMAS    ELLWOOD. 

unpuWished,  and  the  touching  story,  chiefly  in  Mrs. 
Penington'.s  language,  of  tlie  life  and  early  death 
of  8ir  William  Spriugett,  Guli's  father.  The  same 
excellent  volume  contains  certain  inedited  verses  of 
Ellwood,  whose  elegiac  muse,  so  prumpt  to  mouru 
the  death  of  other  friends,  is  strangely  mute  at  that  of 
Guli  Penn.  He  had  indeed  addressed  a  poem  to  her 
hushand  in  America,  and  he  had  embalmed  the  mem- 
ory of  her  father  and  mother  in  song  which  has  at 
least  all  the  preservative  qualities  of  extreme  drjoiess ; 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  some  f  n-gotten  acrostic 
or  eclogue  or  elegy  sorrows  for  her  loss. 

The  Peningtons  had  great  influence  in  turning  Ell- 
wood to  Quakerism,  but  it  was  Edward  Bunough  who 
brought  him  to  a  full  and  flnal  conviction  of  the  truth, 
and  him  the  reader  of  this  life  will  find  duly  lamented 
in  an  acrostic,  in  which  a  fervent  heart  and  a  devout 
mind,  struggling  powerfully  with  anative  tuuelessuessin 
the  poet,  cannot  justly  be  said  to  achieve  the  victory.  It 
must  be  owned  indeed  that  the  poetry  of  the  worthy 
Ellwood  is  of  a  very  tough  and  unwilling  kind,  as  sev- 
eral pieces  given  in  the  course  of  his  narrative  wall  wit- 
ness :  it  is  poetry  which  expresses  the  truth,  and  is  so 
far  to  be  reverenced.  How  to  enjoy  it  is  another  nmtter, 
with  which  probably  the  poet,  who  liked  it,  did  not  con- 
cern himself. 

I  have  m  some  cases  marie  free  to  spare  the  reader 
strains  which  the  autobiographer  had  inserted  in 
his  story,  but  I  have  thouglit  best  to  keep  back  no 
part  of  the  elegy  on  Edward  Burrough,  for  whose  sake 
I  hope  the  r(d)uster  reader  will  strive  with  it,  for  he  was 
a  man  worthy  of  remembrance.  He  early  became  a 
preacher  of  great  influence,  and  suffered  mudi  for  his 
zeal,  which  spared  neither  high  nor  low.     More  than 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD,  175 

one  letter  lie  wrote  to  the  Protector  (whom  the  good 
Sewall  always  styles  0.  Cnnnwell),  warning  hiui 
against  his  own  waxing  pride  and  vainglory  (lie 
made  public  protest  against  the  "  idolatrous"  celebra- 
tion of  Cromwell's  funeral),  and  charging  him  to  put  a 
stop  to  the  persecution  of  the  Quakers.  These  he  fol- 
lowed up  with  the  like  appeals  to  Richard  Cromwell, 
and  to  Charles  II.  in  his  turn.  With  the  last  liis  inter- 
cession had  the  most  effect,  and  it  is  his  glory  to  have  so 
urged  upon  the  king's  attention  the  cruelties  practised 
against  the  Quakers  in  Boston  that  at  Burrongh's  in- 
stance Charles  issued  his  mandamus  ordering  Gov- 
ernor Endicott  to  send  his  prisoners  to  England,  and  so 
ended  that  i^ersecution.  This  good  and  brave  man  died 
in  Newgate,  where  he  had  been  thrown  for  preaching 
at  a  Quaker  meeting,  and  \Ahere  he  lay  sick  (being 
hurt  by  a  fall  the  soldiers  had  given  liim  wlieu  tliey 
seized  him),  for  eight  montlis  before  liis  death. 

Burrough  was  much  with  the  Peningtons,  whose 
house  indeed  seems  to  have  been  the  pretty  constant 
refuge  and  resort  of  the  Quaker  preachers.  Mrs.  Pen- 
ington  was  the  daughter  as  well  as  the  widow  of  a 
baronet,  she  was  a  person  of  substance  as  well  as 
([uality,  and  hosititality  was  her  custom  and  her  instinct. 
In  Mrs.  Webb's  book,  the  reader  will  find  a  most  in- 
teresting account  of  the  exercises  of  mind  concerning 
religion  through  which  she  at  last  found  peace  in  Qua- 
kerism, Her  second  husliand  was  a  man  of  like  seri- 
tiusiiess  of  soul;  he  was  of  a  city  family,  his  father. 
Alderman  Penington,  having  been  one  of  tlie  Regicides 
treacherously  arrested  after  the  K(;storation  and  im- 
prisoned in  the  Tower,  where  he  died  from  sickness 
induced  by  hardship  and  privation.  P]llwood,  being  of 
the  same  Puritan  stock,  was  probably  the  more  readily 


176  THOMAS   ELLWOOD. 

influenced  by  the  example  of  these  admiraLle  people. 
Their  friendship  continued  intimate  through  life,  and 
when  "William  Penn  manied  Guli,  Ell\voi)d's  fraternal 
affection  for  her  was  equally  bestowed  upon  her  hus- 
band. To  him  he  addressed  some  of  the  least  unread- 
able of  his  verses, —  verses  indeed  in  which  there  is  a 
faint  lift  and  waft  of  genuine  poetry. 

TO   MY   FRIEND   IN   AMERICA. 

I  envy  not  nor  grudge  tlie  sweet  content 

I  hope  thou  takcst  under  tliy  shady  tree, 
"Where  many  an  hour  is  innocently  spent, 

From  vexing  cares,  from  noise,  and  tumult  free, 
Where  godly  meetings  are  not  riots  made. 
Nor  innocents  hy  stratagems  betrayed. 

But,  for  my  own  part,  I  expect  not  yet 

Such  peaceful  days,  such  quiet  time  to  see ; 
My  station  in  a  troublous  world  is  set. 
And  daily  trials  still  encompass  me  ; 

This  is  my  comfort,  that  my  God  is  near 
To  give  me  courage,  and  my  spirit  cheer. 

The  blustering  winds  blow  hard,  the  foaming  seas 

Raise  their  proud  waves,  the  surging  biUows  swell ; 
No  human  art  this  tempest  can  appease ; 

lie  's  only  safe  who  with  the  Lord  doth  dwell. 
Though  storms  and  violence  should  yet  increase. 
In  Ilim  there  is  security  and  peace. 

Ellwood's  spiritual  song  is  marked  by  a  stout,  un- 
fluent  devotion,  which  now  and  then  bends  into  a 
momentary  grace ;  his  elegy  upon  the  Excellently 
Learned  John  Milton  (given  from  MS.  by  Mrs.  Webb) 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  177 

is  a  terrible  example  of  a  thoroughly  prosaic  soul  in 
the  unnatural  tlu-oes  of  verse.  What  he  himself  wrote 
of  a  controversial  oiiponcut  but  too  a]>tly  characterizes 
his  own  achievements  in  poetry  :  — 

"  So  flat,  so  dull,  so  rouc/h,  so  void  of  grace. 
Where  symphony  and  cadence  have  no  place ; 
So  fnll  of  chasmes,  stuck  with  prosie  pegs. 
Whereon  his  tired  Muse  might  rest  her  legs, 
(Not  having  wings,)  and  take  new  breath,  that  then 
She  might  with  much  adoe  hop  on  again." 

He  was  the  author  of  "  Davideis,"  the  life  of  King 
David  of  Israel,  an  epic  poem  in  five  books,  which  he 
says  he  wrote  not  fur  publication,  but  for  his  own 
V' diversion";  it  has  apparently  not  survived  for  that 
of  the  present  generation,  though  a  fourth  edition 
of  it  was  printed  in  1792.  He  edited  George  Fox's 
Journals,  but  his  chief  prose  work  is  the  "  Sacred 
History  of  the  Holy  Serii»tures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament,  digested  into  due  method  with  respect  to 
order  of  time  and  place,  with  observations  tending  to 
illustrate  some  passages  therein."  This,  according 
to  Mrs.  Webb,  is  full  of  his  raciness  and  mother  wit, 
is  very  pleasant  reading,  and  reached  a  fourth  edition 
in  1778.  His  f)ther  prose  writings  are  nearly  all  on 
controversial  subjects  in  defence  of  the  doctrines  of 
Friends,  and  have  never  been  republished.  The  titles 
of  some  of  them  are  characteristic  of  the  age,  and  will 
sufficiently  indicate  their  tenor:  "The  Foundation  of 
Tythes  Shaken  "  ;  "An  Antidote  against  the  Infection 
of  W.  Rogers'  Book  "  ;  "A  Seasonable  Dissuasive  from 
Persecution  " ;  "  A  Fair  Examination  of  a  Foul  Paper" ; 
"  Itogero-Mastix,  a  Rod  for  W.  R.  "  ;  etc. 

Many  of  EUwood's  writings  liave  not  been  printed; 


178  THOMAS   ELLWOOD. 

but  the  fact  that  twenty-four  works  of  all  kinds  —  poems, 
pamphlets,  and  controversial  treatises  —  were  published 
and  forgntteu  must  be  our  comfort  and  stay  in  this 
partial  dejtrivation.  His  autobiography  has  alone  sur- 
vived to  our  time,  and  it  will  i)robably  keep  his  memory 
alive  as  long  as  men  love  to  read  simple,  sincere,  and 
manly  books.  Its  manner  lias  for  me  a  great  charm, 
and  fr(.)m  the  clearness  with  which  it  miiTors  tlie  author 
and  the  profound  religious  movement  in  which  he  was 
so  largely  concerned,  it  must  always  be  interesting  to 
the  student  of  history ;  whoever  loves  a  quaint  force 
of  style,  and  many  delicate  unconscious  flavors  of 
character,  or  values  rare  ])ictures  of  the  intimate  life 
of  the  past,  must  also  enjoy  it.  No  one  will  like  it 
the  less  for  the  harmless  vanity  wliich  occasionally 
appears  in  it.  Ellwood  came  liardly  by  his  religion 
and  his  learning,  and  so  much  as  any  man  might,  had 
a  right  to  self-satisfaction  in  tliem. 

He  lived  thirty  years  after  the  period  at  which  his  me- 
moir ends,  and  he  meant  to  have  enlarged  it  with  an  ac- 
count of  his  literary  life  and  labors,  but  he  died  at  last 
in  1713,  without  having  found  time  fortius  work.  His 
declining  years  were  spent  in  retirement  at  Hunger 
Hill,  near  Amerdean,  Buckinghamshire.  He  lies  bur- 
ied with  his  wife,  in  the  little  graveyard  of  New  Jor- 
dans,  where  the  dust  of  the  Penns  and  Peningtons 
reposes,  —  dear  friends  from  whom  death  has  not  parted 
him. 

In  the  Society  of  Friends  he  had  the  station  of  an 
elder,  while  his  wife  was  minis;ter.  It  was  not  till 
after  her  death,  four  years  before  his  own,  that  he  began 
to  write  the  following  story  of  his  good  and  brave 
career,  busying  himself  also  with  his  religious  works 
as  long  as  he  was  able.     He  had  an  asthmatic  com- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  179 

plaint,  but  his  last  sickness  was  paralysis.  All  roports 
agree  eouceruiug  the  charity  and  daily  beauty  of  his 
life.  Joseph  Wyeth,  the  Friend  who  edited  his  me- 
moirs, tells  us  that  he  was  "a  man  of  comely  aspect, 
of  a  free  and  generous  disposition,  of  a  courteous  and 
affable  temper,  and  pleasant  conversation";  and  an- 
other testimony,  of  one  who  knew  him  M-ell,  declares 
that  ''hewas  greatly  respected  by  his  neighbors,  for 
his  services  amongst  them;  his  heart  and  doors  were 
open  to  the  poor;  both  sick  and  lame  who  wanted 
help  had  it  freely  ;  often  saying  '  he  mattered  not  what 
cost  he  was  at  to  do  good." 


THE    LIFE 

OF 

THOMAS     ELLWOOD 


LTHOUGH  my  station,  fi-om  not  being  so 
eminent  either  in  the  church  of  Christ  or  in 
the  workl,  as  that  of  others  who  have  moved 
in  higher  orhs,  may  not  atford  such  con- 
siderable remarks  as  theirs;  yet,  inasmuch  as  in  the 
course  of  my  travels  tlirough  this  vale  of  tears,  I  have 
passed  through  various,  and  some  uncommon  exercises, 
which  the  Lord  hath  been  gracit)usly  pleased  to  sup- 
port me  under,  and  conduct  me  through,  I  hold  it  a 
matter  excusal>le  at  least,  if  not  conunendable,  to  give 
the  world  some  little  account  of  my  life,  that,  in  re- 
counting the  many  deliverances  and  preservations, 
whicli  the  Lord  liath  vouchsafed  to  work  for  me,  both 
I,  by  a  grateful  acknowledgment  thereof,  and  return 
thanksgivings  unto  Him  therefore,  may  in  some  meas- 
ure set  forth  his  abundant  goodness  to  me ;  and  others, 
whose  lot  it  may  be  to  tread  the  same  path,  and  fall 
into  the  same  or  like  exercises,  may  be  encouraged  to 
persevere  in  the  way  of  holiness,  and,  with  full  assur- 


182  THE   LIFE   OF 

ance  of  mind,  to  trust  in  the  Lord,  whatsoever  trials 
may  befall  them. 

To  begin  therefore  with  mine  own  beginning,  I  was 
born  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1(J39,  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  eighth  month,  so  for  as  I  have  been  able 
to  infonn  myself;  for  the  parish  register,  which  re- 
lates to  the  time,  not  of  birth,  but  of  baptism,  as  they 
call  it,  is  not  to  be  relied  on. 

The  place  of  my  birth  was  a  little  country  town 
called  Crowell,  situated  in  the  upper  side  of  Oxford- 
shire, three  miles  eastward  from  Thame,  the  neare.'t 
market  town.  My  father's  name  was  Walter  Ellwood, 
and  my  mother's  maiden  name  was  Elizabeth  Potman ; 
they  were  both  well  descended,  but  of  declining  fami- 
lies. So  that  what  my  father  possessed,  which  was  a 
pretty  estate  in  lands,  and  more  as  I  have  heard  in 
moneys,  he  received,  as  he  had  done  his  name  Walter, 
from  his  grandfather  Walter  Gray,  whose  daughter 
and  only  child  was  his  mother. 

In  my  very  infancy,  when  I  was  but  about  two 
years  old,  I  was  carried  to  London.  For  the  civil  war 
between  the  hing  and  parliament  then  breaking  forth, 
my  father,  who  favored  the  parliament  side,  though 
he  took  not  aiTns,  not  holding  himself  safe  at  his 
country  habitation,  which  lay  too  near  some  ganisons 
of  the  king's,  betook  himself  to  London,  that  city  then 
holding  for  the  parliament.  There  was  I  bred  up, 
though  not  without  much  difficulty,  the  city  air  not 
agreeing  with  my  tender  constitution ;  and  there  I 
continued  until  Oxford  was  surreudered,  and  the  war 
in  appearance  ended. 

In  this  time  my  parents  contracted  an  acquaintance 
and  intimate  friendship  with  the  Lady  Springett,  then 
tlie  widow  of  Sii'  William  Springett,  who  died  in  the 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  183 

parliament  service,  and  afterwards  the  wife  of  Isaac 
Peningtou,  eldest  son  of  Alderman  Penington  of  Lon- 
don. And  this  friendship  devt)lving  from  the  parents 
to  the  children,  I  became  an  early  and  particular  play- 
fellow to  her  daughter  Gulielnia;  being  admitted  as 
such  to  ride  with  lier  in  her  little  coach,  drawn  by  her 
footmen  about  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  I  mention  this  in 
this  place,  because  the  continuation  of  that  acquaint- 
ance and  friendship  having  been  an  occasional  means 
of  my  being  afterwards  brought  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  blessed  Trutli,  I  shall  have  frequent  cause,  in  the 
course  of  the  following  discourse,  to  make  honorable 
mention  of  that  family,  to  which  I  am  under  so  many 
and  great  obligations. 

Soon  after  the  surrender  of  Oxford,  my  father  re- 
turned to  his  estate  at  Crowell;  which  by  that  time 
he  might  have  need  to  look  after,  having  spent,  I  sup- 
pose, the  greatest  part  of  the  moneys  which  had  been 
left  him  by  his  grandfather,  in  maintaining  himself  and 
his  ftimily  at  a  high  rate  in  London. 

My  elder  brother  (for  I  had  one  brother  and  two  sis- 
ters, all  elder  than  myself)  was,  while  we  lived  in 
London,  boarded  at  a  private  school,  in  the  house  of 
one  Francis  Atkinson,  at  a  place  called  Hadley,  near 
Barnet,  in  Hertfordsliire,  where  he  had  made  some 
good  proficiency  in  the  Latin  and  French  tongues. 
But  after  we  had  left  the  city,  and  were  resettled  in 
the  country,  he  was  taken  from  that  private  school, 
and  sent  to  the  free  school  at  Tliame,  in  Oxfordshire. 
Thither  also  was  I  sent,  as  soon  as  my  tender  age 
would  ])ermit;  for  I  was  indeeil  but  young  wlien  I 
went,  and  yet  seemed  younger  than  I  was,  l)y  reason  of 
my  low  and  little  statm-e.  For  it  was  held,  for  some 
years,  a  doubtful    point   wliether    J    should   not  have 


184  THE   LIFE   OF 

proved  a  dwarf ;  but  after  I  was  arrived  to  the  fifteenth 
year  of  my  age,  or  thereab(juts,  I  began  to  shoot  up, 
and  gave  not  up  growing  till  I  had  attained  the  mid- 
dle size  and  stature  of  men. 

At  this  school,  which  at  that  time  was  in  good  repu- 
tation, I  profited  apace,  having  then  a  natural  propen- 
sity to  learning ;  m  that  at  the  first  reading  over  of  my 
lesson,  I  commonly  made  myself  master  of  it :  and  yet, 
which  is  strange  to  think  of,  few  boys  in  the  school 
wore  out  more  birch  than  I.  For  tht)Ugh  I  was  never, 
that  I  remember,  whipped  upon  the  score  of  not  hav- 
ing my  lesson  ready,  or  of  not  saying  it  well,  yet  being 
a  httle  busy  boy,  full  of  spirit,  of  a  working  head  and 
active  hand,  I  could  not  easily  conform  myself  to  the 
grave  and  sober  rules,  and,  as  I  then  thought  severe 
orders  of  the  school ;  but  was  often  playing  one  waggish 
prank  or  other  among  my  scliool-fellows,  which  sub- 
jected me  to  correction,  so  that  I  have  come  under  the 
discipline  of  the  rod  twice  in  a  forenoon ;  which  yet 
brake  no  bones. 

Had  I  been  continued  at  this  school,  and  in  due  time 
prefeiTed  to  a  higher,  I  might  in  likelihood  have  been  a 
scholar;  for  I  was  observed  to  have  a  genius  apt  to 
learn.  But  my  father  having,  so  soon  as  the  republi- 
can government  began  to  settle,  accepted  the  oftice  of 
a  justice  of  the  peace  (which  was  no  way  beneficial, 
but  merely  honorary,  and  every  way  expensive),  and 
put  himself  into  a  port  and  course  of  Hving  agreeable 
thereunto ;  and  having  also  removed  my  brother  from 
Thame  School  to  Merton  College  in  Oxford,  and  en- 
tered him  there  in  the  highest  and  most  chargeable 
condition  of  a  fellow -commoner,  he  found  it  needful  to 
retrench  his  expenses  elsewhere,  the  hurt  of  which  fell 
upon  me.     For  he  thereupon  took  me  from  school,  to 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  185 

save  the  charge  of  maintaining  ine  there ;  which  was 
somewhat  Ul^e  phickiug  green  fruit  from  the  tree,  and 
laying  it  by  before  it  was  come  to  its  due  ripeness, 
which  will  thencefortli  slirink  and  M'itlier,  and  lose  that 
little  juice  and  relish  which  it  began  to  have. 

Even  so  it  fared  with  me :  for  being  taken  home 
when  I  was  but  young,  and  before  I  was  well  settled 
in  my  studies  (tliough  I  had  made  a  good  progress  in 
the  Latin  tongue,  and  was  entered  on  the  Greek,) 
being  left  too  much  to  myself,  to  ply  or  play  witli  my 
books  or  without  them,  as  I  pleased,  I  soon  shook 
hands  with  my  books,  by  shaking  my  books  out  of  my 
hands,  and  laying  them,  by  degrees,  quite  aside ;  and 
addicted  myself  to  sucli  youthful  sports  and  pleasures 
as  the  place  afforded,  and  my  condition  C(juld  reach 
unto.  By  this  means,  in  a  little  time,  I  began  to  lose 
that  little  learning  I  liad  acfpiircd  at  school ;  and,  by 
a  continued  disuse  of  my  books,  became  at  length  so  ut- 
terly a  stranger  to  learning,  that  I  could  not  have  read, 
far  less  have  understood,  a  sentence  in  Latin ;  which 
I  was  so  sensible  of,  that  I  warily  avoided  reading  to 
others,  even  in  an  English  boolv,  lest,  if  I  should  meet 
with  a  Latin  word,  I  should  shame  myself  by  mispro- 
nouncing it. 

Thus  I  went  on,  taking  my  swing  in  such  vain 
courses  as  were  accounted  liarmless  recreations,  enter- 
taining my  companions  and  familiar  acquaintance  with 
jileasant  discourses  in  our  conversations,  by  the  mere 
force  of  motlier-wit  and  natural  parts  without  the  help 
of  school  cultivation ;  and  was  accounted  good  com- 
pany too. 

But  I  always  sorted  myself  with  persons  of  inge- 
nuity, temperance,  and  sobriety ;  for  I  loathed  scur- 
rilities in  conversation,  and  had  a  natural  aversion  to 


186  THE   LIFE   OF 

immoderate  drinking.  So  that,  in  the  time  of  my 
greatest  vanity,  I  was  preserved  from  profanencss,  and 
the  grosser  evils  of  the  world ;  which  rendered  me 
acceptahle  to  persons  of  the  best  note  in  that  country 
then.  I  often  waited  on  the  Lord  Wenman,  at  liis 
house,  Thame  Park,  about  two  miles  from  Cnnvcll, 
where  I  lived  ;  to  whose  favor  I  held  myself  entitled 
in  a  twofold  respect,  both  as  my  mother  was  nearly 
related  to  his  lady,  and  as  he  had  been  pleased  to  bestow 
his  name  upon  me,  when  he  made  large  promises  for 
me  at  the  font.  He  was  a  person  of  great  honor  and 
virtue,  and  always  gave  me  a  kind  reception  at  his 
table,  how  often  soever  I  came.  And  I  have  cause 
to  think  I  should  have  received  from  this  lord  some 
advantageous  preferment  in  this  world,  as  soon  as  he 
had  found  me  capable  of  it  (though  betwixt  him  and 
my  father  there  was  not  then  so  good  an  understanding 
as  might  have  been  wished),  had  I  not  been  in  a  little 
time  after  called  into  the  service  of  the  best  and  high- 
est Lord ;  and  thereby  lost  the  favor  of  all  my  friends, 
relations,  and  acquaintance  of  this  world.  To  the 
account  of  which  most  happy  exchange  I  hasten,  and 
therefore  willingly  pass  over  many  particulars  of  my 
youthful  life.  Yet  one  passage  I  am  willing  to  men- 
tion, for  the  effect  it  had  upon  me  aftenvards,  whicli 
was  thus :  — 

My  father  being  then  in  the  commission  of  the  peace, 
and  going  to  a  petty  sessions  at  "Watlington,  I  waited 
on  him  thither.  And  when  we  came  near  the  town, 
the  coachman,  seeing  a  nearer  and  easier  way  than  the 
common  road,  through  a  cornfield,  and  that  it  was 
wide  enough  for  the  wheels  t..  run  witliout  damaging 
the  corn,  turned  down  there;  which  being  observed 
by  a  husbandman  who  was  at  plough  not  far  off,  he 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  187 

ran  to  us,  anil,  stopping  the  coach,  poiiroil  forth  a 
mouthful  of  complaints,  in  none  of  the  best  language, 
for  driving  over  the  corn.  My  father  mildly  answered 
him,  that  if  there  was  an  offence  committed,  he  must 
rather  impute  it  to  his  servant  than  himself,  since  he 
neither  directed  him  to  drive  that  way  nor  knew  which 
way  he  drove ;  yet  added  that  he  was  going  to  such 
an  inn  at  the  town,  whither  if  he  came  he  would  make 
him  full  satisfaction  for  whatsoever  damage  he  had 
sustained  therehy.  And  so  on  we  went,  the  man 
venting  his  discontent,  as  he  went  back,  in  angry 
accents.  At  the  town,  upon  inquiry,  we  understood 
that  it  was  a  way  often  used,  and  without  damage,, 
being  broad  enough,  but  that  it  was  not  the  common 
road,  which  yet  lay  n(it  fiir  from  it,  and  was  also  good 
enough ;  wherefore  my  father  bid  his  man  drive  home 
that  way. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  returned,  and 
very  dark ;  and  this  quan-elsome  man,  who  had 
troubled  himself  and  us  in  the  moniing,  having  got- 
ten another  lusty  fellow  like  himself  to  assist  him, 
waylaid  us  in  the  night,  expecting  we  should  return 
the  same  way  we  came ;  but  when  they  found  we  did 
not,  but  took  the  common  way,  they,  angry  that  they 
were  disappointed,  and  loath  to  lose  their  purpose 
(which  was  to  put  an  abuse  upon  us),  coasted  over  to 
us  in  the  dark,  and  laying  hold  on  the  horses'  bridles, 
stopped  them  from  going  on.  My  father,  asking  his 
man  what  the  reason  was  that  he  went  not  on,  was 
answered,  that  there  were  two  men  at  the  horses' 
heads,  who  hcdd  them  back,  and  would  not  suffer  them 
to  go  forward.  Whereupon  my  father,  opening  the 
boot,  ste])ped  out,  and  I  f(dlowed  close  at  his  heels. 
Going  up  to  the  place  where  the  men  stood,  ho  de- 


188  THE   LIFE   OF 

maB(lc(l  of  them  the  reason  of  tliis  assault.  They  said 
we  M^ere  tijion  the  corn.  We  knew  by  the  ruts  we 
were  not  on  the  corn,  but  in  the  common  way,  and  told 
them  so ;  but  they  told  iis  they  were  resolved  they 
would  not  let  us  go  on  any  farther,  but  would  make  us 
go  back  again.  My  lather  endeavored  by  gentle  rea- 
soning to  persuade  them  to  forbear,  and  not  run  them- 
selves farther  into  the  danger  of  the  law,  which  they 
were  run  too  far  already  :  but  they  rather  derided  him 
for  it.  Seeing,  therefore,  fair  means  would  not  work 
upon  them,  he  spoke  more  roughly  to  them,  charging 
them  to  deliver  their  clubs  (for  each  of  them  had  a  great 
clul)  in  his  hand,  somewhat  like  those  which  are  called 
quarter-staves)  ;  they  thereupon,  laughing,  told  him 
they  did  not  bring  them  thitlier  for  that  end.  There- 
upon my  father,  turning  his  head  to  me,  said,  "  Tom, 
disarm  them." 

I  stood  ready  at  his  elbow,  waiting  only  for  the  word 
of  command  ;  for  being  naturally  of  a  bold  spirit,  full 
then  of  youthful  heat,  and  that  too  heightened  by  the 
sense  I  had,  not  only  of  the  abuse,  but  insolent  behav- 
ior of  those  rude  fellows,  my  blood  began  to  boil,  and 
my  fingers  itched,  as  the  saying  is,  to  be  dealing  with 
them.  Wherefore,  stepping  boldly  forward  to  lay 
hold  on  the  staff  of  him  that  was  nearest  to  me,  I  said, 
"  Sirrah,  deliver  your  weap(ni."  He  thereupon  raised 
his  club,  which  was  big  enough  to  have  knocked  down 
an  ox,  intending,  no  doubt,  to  knock  me  down  with  it, 
as  probably  he  would  have  done,  had  I  not,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  whii)ped  out  my  rapier,  and  made 
a  pass  upon  him.  I  could  not  have  failed  running  him 
through  up  to  the  hilt,  had  he  stood  his  ground,  but  the 
sudden  and  unexpected  sight  of  my  bright  l)lade,  glis- 
tering in  the  dark  night,  did  so  amaze  and  terrify  the 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  189 

man,  that,  slipping  aside,  he  avoided  my  thrust;  and, 
letting  his  stati'  sink,  betook  himself  to  his  heels  for 
safety,  which  his  compauion,  seeing,  Hed  also.  I  fol- 
lovA'ed  the  former  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  tiinur  addidit 
alas  (fear  gave  him  wings),  and  made  him  swiftly  fly; 
so  that,  although  I  was  accounted  vei-y  nimble,  yet  the 
farther  we  ran  the  more  ground  he  gained  on  me,  so 
that  I  could  not  overtake  him,  which  made  me  think 
he  took  shelter  under  some  bush,  which  he  kuew  where 
to  find,  though  I  did  not.  Meanwhile  the  coachman, 
who  had  sufficiently  the  outside  of  a  man,  excused  him- 
self from  intermeddling,  under  pretence  that  he  durst 
not  leave  his  horses,  and  so  left  me  to  shift  for  myself; 
.and  I  was  gone  so  far  beyond  my  knowledge  that  I 
understood  not  which  way  I  was  to  go,  till  by  hallooing, 
and  being  hallooed  to  again,  I  was  directed  where  to 
find  my  company. 

We  had  easy  means  to  find  out  who  these  men  were, 
the  principal  of  them  having  been  in  the  daytime  at 
the  inn,  and  both  quarrelled  with  the  coachman,  and 
threatened  to  be  even  with  him  when  he  went  back  ; 
but  since  they  came  off  no  better  iii  their  attempt,  my 
father  thought  it  better  not  to  know  them,  than  to 
oblige  himself  to  a  prosecution  of  them. 

At  that  time,  and  for  a  good  while  after,  I  had  no 
regret  upon  my  mind  for  what  I  had  done  and  had 
designed  to  do  in  this  case;  but  went  on  in  a  sort  of 
bravery,  resolving  to  kill,  if  I  could,  any  man  that 
should  make  the  like  attempt,  or  put  any  atiront  upon 
us;  and  for  that  reason  seldom  went  afterwards  upon 
those  public  services  without  a  loaded  pistol  in  my 
pocket.  But  when  it  pleased  the  Lord,  in  Jiis  infinite 
goodness,  to  call  me  out  of  the  spirit  and  ways  of  the 
world,   anil    give    me  the  knowledge    of    his    saving 


190  THE  LIFE   OF 

Truth,  whereby  the  actions  of  my  fore-past  life  were 
set  in  order  before  me,  a  sort  of  honY)r  seized  on  me, 
when  I  considered  how  near  I  had  been  to  the  stain- 
ing of  my  liands  with  human  blood.  And  wliensoever 
afterwards  I  went  tliat  way,  and  indeed  as  oftea  since 
as  the  matter  has  come  into  my  remembrance,  my  soul 
has  blessed  the  Lord  for  my  deliverance  ;  and  thanks- 
givings and  praises  have  arisen  in  my  heart  (as  now, 
at  the  relating  of  it,  they  do)  to  Him  who  preserved 
and  withheld  me  from  shedding  man's  blood.  Which 
is  the  reason  fur  AA-hich  I  have  given  this  account  of 
that  action,  that  others  may  be  warned  by  it. 

About  this  time  my  dear  and  lionored  mother,  who 
was  indeed  a  woman  of  singular  wortli  and  virtue,  de- 
parted this  life,  having  a  little  ])efore  heard  of  the  death 
of  her  eldest  son,  who,  falling  under  the  displeasure  of 
my  fother,  for  refusing  to  resign  his  interest  in  an  estate 
which  my  father  sold,  and  thereupon  desiring  that  he 
might  have  leave  to  travel,  in  hopes  that  time  and  ab- 
sence might  work  a  reconciliation,  went  into  Ireland 
with  a  person  powerful  there  in  those  times,  by  whose 
means  he  was  quickly  preferred  to  a  place  of  trust  and 
proht,  but  lived  not  long  to  enjoy  it. 

I  mentioned  before,  that  during  my  father's  abode 
in  London,  in  the  time  of  the  civil  wars,  he  contracted 
a  friendship  with  the  Lady  Springett,  then  a  widow, 
and  afterwards  married  to  Isaac  Penington,  Esq.,  to 
continue  which,  he  sometimes  visited  them  at  their 
country  lodgings,  as  at  Datchet,and  at  Causham  Lodge, 
near  Heading.  And  having  heard  that  they  were  come 
to  live  upon  their  own  estate,  at  Chalfimt,  in  Bucking- 
hamshire, about  fifteen  miles  from  Crowell,  he  went 
one  day  to  visit  them  there,  and  to  return  at  night, 
taking  me  ^\•ith  him. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  191 

But  very  much  surprised  we  were,  when,  behig  come 
thither,  we  lirst  heard,  then  found,  they  were  hecoine 
Quakers ;  a  people  we  had  no  knowk'dge  of,  and  a 
name  we  had,  till  then,  scarcely  heard  of.  So  great  a 
change,  from  a  free,  debonair,  and  courtly  sort  of  be- 
havior, which  we  formerly  had  found  them  in,  to  so 
strict  a  gravity  as  they  now  received  ns  with,  did  not 
a  little  amuse  and  disappoint  our  expectation  of  such 
a  pleasant  visit  as  we  used  to  have,  and  had  now 
promised  ourselves.  Nor  could  my  father  have  any 
opportunity,  by  a  private  conference  with  them,  to 
understand  the  ground  or  occasion  of  tins  change,  there 
being  some  other  strangers  with  them,  related  to  Isaac 
Penington,  who  came  that  morning  from  London  to 
visit  them  also. 

For  my  part,  I  sought,  and  at  length  found  means, 
to  cast  myself  into  the  company  of  the  daughter,  whom 
I  found  gathering  some  Howers  in  the  garden,  attended 
by  her  maid,  who  was  also  a  Quaker.  But  when  I 
addressed  myself  to  her,  after  my  accustomed  manner, 
with  iuteuticni  to  engage  her  in  some  discourse,  which 
might  introduce  conversation  on  the  foot  of  our  former 
acquaintance,  though  she  treated  me  with  a  courteous 
mien,  yet,  as  young  as  she  was,  the  gravity  of  her  look 
and  behavior  struck  such  an  awe  upon  me,  that  I  found 
myself  not  so  much  master  of  myself  as  to  pursue  any 
farther  converse  with  her.  Wherefore,  asking  pardon 
for  my  boldness  in  having  intruded  myself  into  her 
private  walks,  I  withdrew,  not  without  some  disorder 
(as  I  thought  at  least)  of  mind. 

We  stayed  dinner,  which  was  very  handsome,  and 
lacked  nothing  to  reconmicnd  it  to  me  but  the  want  of 
mirth  and  pleasant  discourse,  which  we  could  neither 
have  with  them,  nor,  by  reason  of  them,  with  one 


192  THE   LIFE   OF 

another  amongst  ourselves ;  the  weightiness  that  was 
upon  their  spirits  and  countenances  keeping  down 
the  Hghtness  that  wouhl  have  been  up  in  us.  We 
stayed,  notwitlistandlTig,  till  the  rest  of  the  company 
had  taken  leave  of  them,  and  then  we  also,  donig 
the  same,  returned,  not  greatly  satisfied  with  our 
journey,  nor  knowing  what  in  particular  to  find  fault 
with. 

Yet  this  good  cflect  that  visit  had  upon  my  father, 
who  was  then  in  the  commission  for  the  peace,  tliat 
it  disposed  him  to  a  more  favorable  opinion  of  and 
carriage  towards  those  people  when  they  came  in  his 
way,  as  not  long  after  one  of  them  did.  For  a  young 
man  who  lived  in  Buckinghamshire,  came  on  a  first 
day  to  the  church  (so  called)  at  a  town  called  Chinner, 
a  mile  from  Crowell,  having,  it  seems,  a  pressure  on 
his  mind  to  say  something  to  the  minister  of  that  par- 
ish. His  being  an  acquaintance  of  mine  drew  me 
sometimes  to  hear  him,  as  it  did  then.  The  young 
man  stood  in  the  aisle  before  the  pulpit  all  the  time  of 
the  sermon,  not  speaking  a  word  till  the  sermon,  and 
prayer  after  it,  w(n-e  ended,  and  then  sjjake  a  few 
words  to  the  priest,  of  which  all  that  I  could  hear  was, 
that  "the  prayer  of  the  wicked  is  abomination  to  the 
Lord,"  and  that  "  God  hcareth  not  sinners."  Some- 
wdiat  more,  I  think,  he  did  say,  which  I  could  not 
distinctly  hear  for  the  noise  the  people  made;  and 
more,  probably,  he  would  have  said,  had  he  wot 
been  interrupted  by  the  officers,  who  took  him  into 
custody,  and  led  him  out  in  order  to  carry  him  before 
my  father. 

When  I  underst<iod  that,  I  hastened  home,  that  I 
might  give  my  fatlier  a  good  account  of  the  matter 
before  tlioy  came.     I  told  him  the  young  man  behaved 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  193 

himself  quietly  and  peaceably;  spake  not  a  word  till 
the  minister  had  quite  done  his  service,  and  that  what 
he  then  spake  was  but  slmrt,  and  was  delivered  witliout 
passion  or  ill  la^guag(^  Tliis  I  knew  would  furnish 
my  father  witli  a  fair  ground  whereon  to  discharge  the 
man,  if  he  would.  And  accordingly,  when  they  came,  and 
made  a  high  conqdaint  against  the  man,  who  said  little 
fur  himself,  my  father  having  examined  the  officers 
who  brought  him,  what  the  words  that  he  spake  were 
(which  they  did  not  well  agree  in),  and  at  what  time 
he  spake  them  (which  they  all  agreed  to  be  after  the 
minister  had  done),  and  then,  whether  he  gave  the 
minister  any  reviling  language,  or  endeavoi"ed  to  raise 
a  tumult  among  the  people  (which  they  could  not 
charge  him  witli) ;  not  hnding  tliat  he  had  broken  the 
law,  he  counselled  the  young  man  to  be  careful  that  he 
did  not  make  or  occasion  any  public  disturbances,  and 
so  dismissed  him,  wliich  I  was  glad  of. 

Some  time  after  tliis,  my  father  having  gotten  some 
further  acccniut  of  tlie  people  called  Quakers,  and  be- 
ing desirous  to  be  informed  concerning  their  jirinciples, 
made  another  visit  to  Isaac  Penington  and  liis  wife,  at 
their  house  called  the  Grange,  in  Peter's  Chalfont,  and 
tofdc  both  my  sisters  and  me  with  him.  It  was  in  the 
tenth  month,  in  the  year  1G59,  that  we  went  thither, 
where  we  found  a  very  kind  reception,  and  tarried 
some  days  ;  one  day  at  least  the  longer,  because,  wliile 
we  were  there,  a  meeting  was  appointed  at  a  place  about 
a  mile  from  thence,  to  which  we  were  invited  to  go,  and 
willingly  went.  It  was  held  in  a  farudiouse  called  the 
Grove,  which,  having  formerly  been  a  gentleman's  seat, 
had  a  very  large  hall;  and  that  was  well  hlled. 

To  this  meeting  came  Edward  Burrouuli,  besides 
other  preachers,  as  Thomas  Curtis  and  James  Naylor, 


194  THE   LIFE   OF 

tut  none  spake  there  at  that  tnne  hut  Edwanl  Bur- 
rough.  Next  to  -whoiM,  as  it  were  under  liini,  it  was 
my  lot  to  sit  on  a  stool  hy  the  side  of  a  long  tahle  on 
M'hich  he  sat,  and  I  drank  in  his  words  with  desire; 
for  they  not  only  answered  my  understanding,  hut 
warmed  my  heart  with  a  certain  heat,  which  I  had  not 
till  then  felt  from  the  ministry  of  any  man. 

When  the  meeting  was  ended,  our  friends  took  us 
home  with  them  again  ;  and  after  sujijjer,  the  evenings 
being  kmg,  the  servants  of  the  family,  who  were 
Quakers,  were  called  in,  and  we  all  sat  down  in  silence. 
But  long  we  had  not  so  sat,  before  Edward  Burrough 
began  to  speak  among  us  ;  and  although  he  spake  not 
long,  yet  what  he  said  did  touch,  as  I  suppose,  my 
father's  (religious)  copyhold,  as  the  phrase  is.  And 
lie  having  been  from  his  youth  a  jirofesyor,  though  not 
joined  in  what  is  called  close  communion  with  any 
one  sort,  and  valuing  himself  upon  the  knowledge  he. 
esteemed  himself  to  have,  in  the  various  notions  of 
each  jirofession,  thougli  the  had  now  a  f;iir  opportun- 
ity to  display  his  knowledge,  and  thereupon  began  to 
make  olyections  against  what  had  been  delivered. 

The  subject  of  the  discourse  was,  "  The  universal 
free  grace  of  God  to  all  mankind."  To  this  he 
opposed  the  Calvinistical  tenet  of  particular  and  ]>er- 
sonal  predestination  :  in  defence  of  which  indefensible 
notion  he  found  himself  more  at  a  loss  than  he  ex- 
pected. Edward  Burrough  said  not  much  to  him 
upon  it,  though  what  he  said  was  close  and  cogent. 
Jiut  James  Naylor,  interposing,  handled  the  subject 
with  so  nmch  perspicuity  and  clear  denumstration  that- 
Ills  reasoning  seemed  to  be  irresistible;  and  so  I  suj)- 
jiose  my  father  found  it,  which  made  liim  wilUug  to 
dro})  the  discourse. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  105 

As  for  Edward  Burrough,  he  was  a  brisk  young 
man  of  a  ready  tongue,  and  might  have  been,  ior 
aught  I  then  knew,  a  scholar,  which  made  me  the  less 
to  admire  his  way  of  reasoning.  But  what  dropped 
from  James  Xaylor  had  the  greater  force  upon  me, 
because  he  looked  but  like  a  plain,  simple  country- 
man, having  the  appearance  of  a  husbandmau  or  a 
shepherd.  As  my  father  was  not  able  to  maintain  the 
argument  on  his  side,  so  neither  did  they  scieni  willing 
to  drive  it  on  to  an  extremity  on  their  side.  But, 
treating  him  in  a  soft  and  gentle  mannei-,  did,  after  a 
while,  let  fall  the  discourse ;  and  then  we  withdrew  to 
our  respective  chambers. 

The  next  morning  we  prepared  to  return  home  (that 
is,  my  father,  my  yctunger  sister,  and  myself  j  for  my 
elder  sister  was  gone  before  by  the  stage-coach  t(j 
London)  ;  and  when,  having  taken  leave  of  our  friends, 
we  went  forth,  they,  witli  Edward  Burrough,  accom- 
panying us  to  the  gate,  he  there  directed  his  speech  in 
a  few  words  to  each  of  us  severally,  according  to  tlie 
sense  he  had  of  our  several  conditions.  And  when  we 
were  gone  off,  and  they  gone  in  again,  tliey  asking 
liiin  what  he  had  thought  of  us,  he  answered  them,  as 
they  afterwards  told  me,  to  this  effect:  ''As  for  the 
old  man,  he  is  settled  on  his  lees,  and  the  young  woman 
is  light  and  airy  ;  but  the  young  man  is  reached,  and 
may  do  well  if  he  does  not  lose  it."  And  surely  that 
wliich  he  said  to  me,  or  ratlier  that  spirit  in  which  ho 
spake  it,  took  such  fast  hold  on  me,  that  I  felt  sadness 
and  trouble  come  over  me,  though  I  did  not  distinctly 
understand  what  I  was  troubled  for.  I  knew  not 
what  I  ailed,  but  I  know  I  ailed  something  more  than 
ordinary;  and  my  heart  was  very  heavy.  I  found  it 
was  not  so  with  my  father  and  sister ;  for,  as  I  rode 


196  THE   LIFE   OF 

after  the  coach,  I  could  hear  them  talk  pleasantly  one 
to  the  other ;  hut  they  could  not  discern  how  it  was 
with  n)e,  hecausu  I,  ridiug  ou  horsehaclv,  kept  much 
out  of  sight. 

By  the  time  we  got  lu^me  it  was  night.  And  the 
next  day,  heing  the  tirst  day  of  the  week,  I  went  in 
the  afternoon  to  hear  the  minister  of  Chiuner;  and 
this  was  the  last  tiuie  I  ever  went  to  hear  any  of  that 
function.  After  the  sermon  I  went  with  him  to  his 
house ;  and  in  a  freedom  of  disccjurse  which,  from  a 
certain  intimacy  that  was  between  ns,  I  commonly 
used  with  liim,  told  him  where  I  had  been,  what  com- 
pany I  luid  met  with  there,  and  what  observations  I 
liad  mad(i  to  myself  thereupon.  He  seemed  to  under- 
stand as  little  of  them  as  I  had  done  before,  and  civilly 
abstained  from  casting  any  unhandsome  reflections  on 
them. 

I  had  a  desire  to  go  to  another  meeting  of  the 
Quakers  ;  jind  bid  my  father's  man  im^uire  if  there 
was  any  in  tlie  country  thereabouts.  He  thereupon 
t<d(l  me  lie  had  heard  at  Isaac  Penington's,  that  there 
was  to  be  a  meeting  at  High  Wycombe  on  Tliursday 
next.  Thither  therefore  I  went,  though  it  was  seven 
miles  from  me.  And  that  I  might  be  rather  thought 
to  go  out  a  coursing  than  to  a  meetiug,  I  let  my  grey- 
hound run  by  my  horse's  side. 

When  I  came  there,  and  had  set  up  my  horse  at  an 
inn,  I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  find  the  house  where  the 
meeting  was  to  be.  I  knew  it  not,  and  was  ashamed 
to  ask  after  it.  Wherefore,  having  ordered  the  ostler  to 
take  care  of  my  dog,  I  went  into  the  street,  and  stood 
at  the  inn  gate,  musing  with  myself  what  course  to 
take.  But  I  had  not  stood  long  ere  I  saw  a  horseman 
riding  along  the  street,  whom  I   remembered  I  had 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  107 

seen  before  at  Isaac  Peiiiiiiiton's,  avid  he  put  ii})  his 
horse  at  the  same  inn.  Him  therefore  I  resolved  to 
foHow,  supposing  he  was  going  to  tlie  meeting,  as  in- 
deed he  was. 

Being  come  to  the  house,  which  proved  to  he  John 
Kaunce's,  I  saw  the  people  sitting  together  in  an  outer 
room  f  wherefore  I  stepped  in  and  sat  down  on  the  first 
void  seat,  the  end  of  a  bench  just  within  the  door,  hav- 
ing my  sword  by  my  side,  and  black  clothes  on,  which 
drew  some  eyes  upon  me.  It  was  not  long  ere  one 
stood  up  and  spake,  whom  I  was  after\A'ards  well  ac- 
quainted with  ;  his  name  was  Samuel  Tliornton ;  and 
wliat  he  spake  was  very  suitalde,  and  of  good  service 
to  me,  for  it  reached  home  as  if  it  had  been  directed  to 
me.  As  soon  as  ever  the  meeting  was  ended,  and  the 
people  began  to  rise,  I,  being  next  the  door,  stei)})ed 
out  quickly,  and,  hastening  to  my  inn,  took  horse 
immediately  lioiiiewards ;  and,  so  far  as  I  remember, 
my  having  been  gone  was  not  taken  notice  of  by  my 
father. 

This  latter  meeting  was  like  clinching  of  a  nail, 
confirming  and  fastening  in  my  mind  those  good  jjrin- 
ciples  which  liad  sunk  into  me  at  the  fn-mer.  My 
understanding  l>egan  to  ttpen,  and  I  felt  some  stirrings 
in  my  lireast,  tending  to  tlie  W(H'k  of  a.  new  creation  in 
me.  The  general  trouble  and  confusion  of  mind,  which 
had  for  some  days  lain  heavy  upon  me,  and  pressed 
me  down,  witliout  a  distinct  discovery  of  tlie  particular 
cause  for  which  it  came,  b<\gan  now  to  wear  off,  and 
some  glimmerings  of  liglit  bci^au  to  l)reak'  forth  in  me, 
which  let  me  sec  my  inward  state  and  coiuhtion  towards 
God.  Tlie  liglit,  wliich  before  had  shone  in  my  dark- 
ness, and  tbe  darkness  could  not  conqireheud  it,  began 
now  to  shine  out  of  darkness,  and  in  some  measure 


108  THE  LIFE   OF 

discovered  to  me  what  it  was  that  had  hcforc  clouded 
ine,  and  brought  that  sadness  to  and  trouble  upon  me. 
And  now  I  saw  that,  although  I  had  been,  in  a  great 
degree,  preserved  from  tlie  coniuion  iinmorahties  and 
gross  polhitious  of  the  world,  yet  the  spirit  of  the  world 
had  hitherto  ruled  in  me,  and  led  me  into  pride,  flat- 
tery, vanity,  and  superfluity,  all  which  was  naught. 
I  found  there  were  many  plants  growing  in  me  which 
were  not  of  the  Heavenly  Father's  planting,  and  that 
all  these,  of  whatever  sort  or  kind  they  were,  or  how 
spi^cions  soever  they  might  ajtpear,  must  be  })luclied  up. 

Now  was  all  my  former  life  ripped  up,  and  my  sins, 
by  degrees,  were  set  in  order  before  me.  And  though 
they  looked  not  with  so  black  a  hue  and  so  deep  a  dye 
as  those  of  the  lewdest  sort  of  ])eojd('  did,  yet  I  found 
that  all  sin,  even  that  wliich  had  the  fairest  and  finest 
show,  as  well  as  that  which  was  more  coarse  and  foul, 
brouglit  guilt,  and  with  and  for  guilt,  condemnation  on 
the  soul  that  sinned.  This  I  fcdt,  and  was  greatly 
bowed  down  under  the  sense  thereof.  Now  also  did  I 
receive  a  new  law,  an  inward  law  superadded  to  the 
outwai-<l;  the  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus, 
which  wrouglit  in  me  against  all  evil,  not  only  in  deed 
and  in  word,  but  even  in  thought  also ;  so  that  every- 
thing was  brought  to  judgment,  and  judgment  passed 
upon  all.  So  that  I  could  not  any  longer  go  on  in  my 
former  ways  and  course  of  life;  for  when  I  did,  judg- 
ment took  lidld  ujion  me  for  it. 

Thus  the  Lord  was  graciously  pleased  to  deal  with 
me,  in  somewhat  like  iiuiinier  as  he  had  dealt  with 
his  peo]de  Israel  of  (dd,  when  they  had  transgressed 
his  righteous  law  ;  whom  by  his  pro])het  he  called 
back,  re(|uired  to  put  away  the  evil  of  their  <loings ; 
bidding  them  flrst  cease  to  do  evil,  then  learn  to  do 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  199 

well,  before  lie  would  admit  them  to  reason  with  liim, 
and  before  he  would  impart  to  them  the  efl'ects  of  his 
free  mercy.     (Isaiah  i.  10,  17.) 

I  was  now  required  by  this  inward  and  spiritual  law, 
the  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus,  to  put 
away  the  evil  of  my  doings,  and  to  cease  to  do  evil. 
And  what,  in  particulars,  the  evil  was  which  I  was 
required  to  put  away,  and  to  cease  from,  that  measun; 
of  the  divine  light  which  was  now  manifested  in  mc 
discovered  to  me ;  and  what  the  light  made  manifest  to 
be  evil,  judgment  passed  upon. 

So  that  here  began  to  be  a  way  cast  up  bef<;ro  me 
for  me  to  walk  in,  — a  direct  and  plain  way  ;  so  plain, 
tliat  a  wayfaring  man,  how  weak  and  sim])le  soever, 
though  a  fool  to  the  wisdom  and  in  tlie  judgment  of 
the  world,  co\ild  not  err  while  he  continued  to  walk  in 
it ;  the  error  conung  in  by  his  going  out  of  it.  And 
this  way,  with  respect  to  me,  I  saw  vi'as  that  measure  of 
divine  light  which  was  manifested  in  me,  by  wliich  the 
evil  of  my  doings,  which  I  was  to  put  away  and  to 
cease  from,  was  discovered  to  me. 

By  this  divine  light  then  I  saw,  that  though  I  had 
not  the  evil  of  the  common  uncleanness,  debauchery, 
])rofaneness,  and  j)(dkitions  of  the  world  to  put  away, 
because  I  had,  through  the  great  goodness  of  God, 
and  a  civil  education,  been  ])reserved  out  of  those 
grosser  evils;  yet  I  had  many  oth(>r  evils  to  put  away, 
and  to  cease  from;  some  of  whicli  were  not  by  the 
world  (wliich  lies  in  wickedness,  —  1  John  v.  19) 
accounted  evils,  but  by  the  light  of  Christ  were  made 
manifest  to  me  to  be  evils,  and  as  such  condenmed  in 
ine. 

As,  particularly,  those  fruits  and  effects  of  ])ridc 
that  discover  themselves  in  the  vanity  and  superllr.ity 


200  THE   LIFE   OF 

of  apparol ;  wliicli  I,  as  far  as  my  ability  would  ex- 
tend to,  took,  alas  !  too  much  deliglit  in.  This  evil  of 
my  doings  I  was  required  to  put  away  and  cease  from  ; 
and  judgment  lay  upon  me  till  I  did  so.  Wherefore, 
in  obedience  to  tlie  inward  law,  which  agreed  with  the 
outward  (1  Tim.  ii.  9  ;  1  Pet.  iii.  3;  1  Tim.  vi.  8; 
Jam.  i.  21),  I  took  ofl'from  my  apparel  those  unneces- 
oary  trimmings  of  lace,  ribbons,  and  useless  buttons, 
which  had  no  real  service,  but  were  set  on  only  for 
that  which  was  by  mistake  called  tn-nament;  and  I 
ceased  to  Avear  rings. 

Again,  the  giving  of  ilattering  titles  to  men,  be- 
between  whom  and  me  there  was  not  any  relation  to 
which  such  titles  could  be  ])reten(le(l  to  belong:  this 
was  an  evil  I  had  been  much  addicted  to,  and  Avas 
accounted  a  ready  artist  in;  therefore,  tliis  evil  also 
was  I  required  to  ])ut  away  and  cease  from.  So  that 
thenceforward  I  durst  not  say,  "sir,"  "master,"  "my 
lord,"  "madam"  (or  "  my  (hune"),  or  say,  "your  ser- 
vant," to  any  one  to  whom  I  did  not  stand  in  the  real 
relation  of  a  servant,  which  I  had  never  done  to  any. 

Again,  respect  of  persons,  in  uncovering  the  head, 
and  bowing  the  knee  or  body  in  salutations,  Avas  a 
practice  I  had  been  much  in  the  use  of.  And  this 
being  one  of  the  vain  customs  of  the  world,  intro- 
duced by  the  spirit  of  the  world,  instead  of  the  true 
honor,  which  this  is  a  false  representation  of,  and  used 
in  deceit,  as  a  token  of  respect,  by  persons  one  to  an- 
other; who  bear  no  real  respect  one  to  another  ;  and, 
besides,  this  being  a  type  and  proj^er  emblem  of  that 
divine  honor  which  all  ought  to  pay  to  Almighty  C!od, 
and  which  all,  of  all  sorts,  who  take  upon  them  tlie 
Christian  name,  appear  in  wlien  they  ofter  their  prayers 
to  him,  and  therefore  .should  not   bo  given   to  men: 


THOMAS   ELL  WOOD,  201 

I  found  this  to  be  one  of  those  evils  which  I  had  been 
too  long  doing ;  therefore  I  was  now  re([uircd  to  put 
it  away,  and  cease  from  it. 

Again,  the  corrupt  and  unsound  fonn  of  speaking 
in  the  plural  number  to  a  single  person,  you  to  one, 
instead  of  thou;  contrary  to  the  pure,  plain,  and  single 
language  of  truth,  ihou  to  one,  and  you  to  more  than 
one ;  which  had  always  been  used  by  God  to  men,  and 
men  to  God,  as  w(dl  as  one  to  another,  from  the  oldest 
record  of  time,  till  corrupt  men,  for  corrupt  ends,  in 
later  and  corrupt  times,  to  flatter,  fawn,  and  work 
upon  the  corrupt  nature  in  men,  brought  in  that  false 
and  senseless  way  of  speaking  you  to  one;  which  hath 
since  corrupted  tlie  modern  languages,  and  hath  greatly 
debased  the  spirits,  and  depraved  the  manners  of  men : 
tliis  evil  custom  I  had  been  as  forward  in  as  others, 
and  this  I  was  now  called  out  of,  and  required  to  cease 
from. 

These,  and  many  more  evil  customs,  which  had 
sprung  up  in  the  night  of  dai'kness,  and  general  apos- 
tasy from  the  truth,  and  true  religion,  were  now,  by 
the  inshining  of  this  pure  ray  of  divine  light  in  my 
conscience,  gradually  discovered  to  me  to  be  what  I 
ought  to  cease  from,  shun,  and  stand  a  witness 
against. 

But  so  subtilely,  and  withal  so  ])owerfully,  did  the 
enemy  work  upon  tlie  weak  part  in  me,  as  to  persuade 
me  that  in  these  tilings  I  ought  to  make  a  difference 
between  my  father  and  all  other  men  ;  and  that,  there- 
fore, though  I  did  disuse  these  tokens  of  respect  to 
others,  yet  I  ouglit  still  to  use  them  to\vards  liim,  as 
he  was  my  father.  And  so  far  did  this  wih-  of  his 
prevail  upon  me,  tlu'ougli  a  fear  lest  I  sliould  do  amiss 
in  withdrawing  any  sort  of  respect  or  honcu-  fn)m  my 


202  THE   LIFE   OF 

father,  whicli  ^A'ap  due  unto  liini,  tliat,  l>cing  thereby 
beguiled,  I  coutinued  for  a  Avhile  to  beiuean  myself  in 
the  same  manner  towards  liim,  with  resjicct  both  to 
language  and  gesture,  as  I  had  always  done  before. 
And  as  long  as  I  did  so,  standing  bare  before  him,  and 
giving  him  the  accustomed  language,  he  did  not  ex- 
press, Avhatever  he  thought,   any  dislike  of  me. 

But  as  to  myself,  and  the  work  begun  in  me,  I  found 
it  Avas  not  enough  for  me  to  cease  to  do  evil;  though 
that  was  a  good  and  a  great  step.  I  liad  another  les- 
son before  me,  which  was,  to  learn  to  do  well;  Avliich 
I  could  by  no  means  do,  till  I  had  giv<'n  up,  Avith  full 
jiurpose  of  mind,  to  cease  from  doing  evil.  And  wlien 
I  liad  done  tliat,  the  enemy  took  advantage  of  my  weak- 
ness to  mislead  me  again. 

For,  whereas  I  ought  to  have  waited  in  the  light,  for 
directi(ni  and  guidance  into,  and  in  the  way  of  well- 
doing, and  not  to  have  moved  without  the  divine  spirit, 
a  manifestation  of  which  the  Lord  has  been  pleased  t() 
give  unto  me,  for  me  to  profit  with  or  by,  the  enemy, 
transforming  himself  into  the  appearance;  of  an  angel 
of  light,  offered  himself  in  that  appearance  to  be  my 
guide  and  leader  into  the  performance  of  religious  exer- 
cises. And -I,  not  then  knowing  the  wiles  of  Satan, 
and  being  eager  to  be  doing  some  acceptable  service  to 
God,  too  readily  yielded  myself  to  the  conduct  of  my 
enemy  instead  of  my  friend.  He  thereupon,  humoring 
the  warmth  and  zeal  of  my  spirit,  put  me  upon  relig- 
ious performances  in  my  OMni  will,  in  my  own  time,  and 
in  my  own  strength  ;  which  in  themselves  were  good, 
and  would  have  been  profitable  unto  me,  and  accept- 
able unto  the  Lord,  if  they  had  been  performed  in  his 
will,  in  his  time,  and  in  the  ability  which  he  gives. 
But  being  wnnight  in  the   will  of  man,  and   at   the 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  203 

prompting  of  the  evil  one,  no  wonder  that  it  diil  me 
hurt  instead  of  ,i;(>od. 

I  read  abundantly  in  the  Bible,  and  would  set  myself 
tasks  in  reading  ;  enjoining  myself  to  read  so  many 
chapters,  sometimes  a  whole  book  or  long  epistle  at 
a  time.  And  I  thought  that  time  well  spent ;  though 
I  was  not  much  the  wiser  for  what  I  had  read,  reading 
it  too  cursorily,  and  without  the  true  guide,  the  Holy 
Spirit,  which  alone  could  ()i)en  tlie  understanding,  and 
give  the  true  sense  of  what  was  read.  1  prayed  often, 
and  drew  out  my  prayers  to  a  great  length ;  and  ap- 
pointed unto  myself  certain  set  times  to  pray  at,  and  a 
certain  number  of  prayers  to  say  in  a  day  ;  yet  knew 
not,  meanwliile,  what  true  prayer  was,  whicli  stands 
not  in  words,  though  tli(>  words  wliich  are  uttered  in 
the  movings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are  very  availal)le  ;  but 
in  the  breathing  of  the  snnl  to  the  Heavenly  Father, 
through  tlie  operation  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  maketh 
intercession  sometimes  in  words,  and  sometimes  with 
sighs  and  gi'oans  only,  which  the  Lord  vouchsafes  to 
hear  and  answer. 

This  will-worship,  which  all  is  tliat  is  perf  irmed  in 
the  will  of  man,  and  not  in  the  movings  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  was  a  great  hurt  to  me,  and  hindrance  of  my 
spiritual  growth  in  the  way  of  truth.  I>ut  my  Heavenly 
Father,  wlio  knew  the  sincerity  of  my  soul  to  him,  an  1 
the  hearty  desire  I  had  to  serve  him,  had  compassion 
on  me  ;  and  in  due  time  was  graciously  pleased  to 
illuminate  my  understanding  farther,  and  to  open  in  me 
an  eye  to  discern  the  false  spirit,  and  its  way  of  work- 
ing, from  the  true  ;  and  to  reject  the  former,  and  cleave 
to  tlu!  latter. 

But  though  the  enemy  had  by  his  subtilty  gained 
such  advantages  over  me,  yet  I  went  on  notwithstand- 


204  THE   LIFE   OF 

ing,  and  firmly  persistoil  in  my  godly  resolution  of 
ceasing  from  and  denying  those  things  which  I  was 
now  convinced  in  my  conscience  were  evil.  And  on 
this  account  a  great  trial  came  quickly  on  me.  For 
the  general  quai-ter  sessions  for  the  peace  coming  on, 
my  father,  willing  to  excuse  himself  from  a  dirty  jour- 
ney, commanded  me  to  get  up  hetimes,  and  go  to  Ox- 
ford, and  deliver  in  the  recognizances  he  had  taken  ; 
and  hriug  him  an  account  what  justices  were  on  the 
bench,  and  what  principal  pleas  were  before  them  ; 
which  he  knew  I  knew  how  to  do,  having  often  attended 
him  on  those  services. 

I,  who  knew  how  it  stood  with  me  better  than  he 
did,  felt  a  weight  come  over  me  as  soon  as  he  had 
spoken  the  W(jrd.  For  I  presently  saw  it  would  bring 
a  very  great  exercise  upon  me.  But  having  never 
resisted  his  will  in  anything  that  was  lawful,  as  this 
was,  I  attempted  not  to  make  any  excuse,  but,  ordering 
a  horse  to  be  ready  for  me  early  in  the  morning,  I  went 
to  bed,  having  great  stragglings  in  my  breast.  For 
the  enemy  came  in  upon  me  like  a  flood,  and  set  many 
difficulties  before  me,  swelling  them  up  to  the  highest 
pitch,  by  representing  them  as  mountains  which  I 
should  never  be  able  to  get  over  ;  and,  alas  !  that  faitli 
which  could  remove  mountains,  and  cast  them  into  the 
sea,  was  but  very  small  and  weak  in  me.  He  cast  into 
my  mind  not  only  how  I  should  behave  myself  in  court, 
and  despatch  the  Inisiness  I  was  sent  about,  but  how  I 
sh(juld  demean  myself  towards  my  acquaintance,  of 
which  I  luid  many  in  that  city,  with  whom  I  was  wont 
to  be  jolly  ;  whereas  now  I  could  not  put  off  my  hat, 
nor  bow  to  any  of  them,  nor  give  them  their  honorary 
titles,  as  they  are  called,  nor  use  the  corrupt  language 
of  2/ou  to  any  one  of  them,  but  must  keep  to  the  plain 
and  true  language  of  thou  and  thee. 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  205 

Much  of  this  nature  revolved  in  my  mind,  thrown 
in  by  the  enemy  to  discourage  and  cast  me  down ;  and 
I  had  none  to  Iiave  recourse  to  for  counsel  or  lielj),  l>ut 
to  the  Lord  alone.  To  him  therefore  I  ))oured  fortli 
my  supplications  with  earnest  cries  and  breathings  of 
soul,  that  he,  in  wliom  all  power  was,  would  enable 
me  to  go  through  this  great  exercise,  and  keep  me 
faithful  to  himself  therein.  And  after  some  time  he 
was  pleased  to  compose  my  mind  to  stillness,  and  I 
went  to  rest. 

Early  next  morning  I  got  up,  and  found  my  spirit 
pretty  calm  and  quiet,  yet  not  without  a  fear  upon  me, 
lest  I  should  slip  and  let  fall  the  testimony  which  I  had 
to  bear.  And  as  I  rode,  a  frequent  cry  ran  through 
me  to  the  Lord,  on  this  wise:  '^0  my  God,  preserve 
me  faithful,  whatever  befalls  me  !  Suffer  me  not  to  be 
drawn  into  evil,  how  much  scorn  and  contempt  soever 
may  be  cast  upon  me!  " 

Thus  was  my  sjjirit  exercised  on  the  way  almost 
continually.  And  when  I  was  come  witliin  a  mile  or 
two  of  the  city,  whom  should  I  meet  upon  the  way 
coming  from  thence  but  Edward  Burrougli  !  I  rode 
in  a  mountier  cap  (a  dress  more  used  then  than  now), 
and  so  did  he  ;  and  because  the  weather  was  exceeding 
sharp,  we  both  had  drawn  our  caps  down  to  shelter 
our  faces  from  the  cold  ;  and  by  tliat  means  neitlier  ..f 
us  luiew  the  other,  but  passed  by  without  taking  notice 
one  of  the  other;  till  a  few  days  after  meetinsr"  attain, 
and  observing  each  otlier's  dress,  we  recollectcMl  wlicre 
we  had  so  lately  met.  Th'ni  thought  I  witli  mysi-If, 
oh!  how  glad  should  I  have  been  of  a  word  nf  en- 
couragement and  counsel  from  him,  wlnni  I  was  under 
that  weighty  exercise  of  mind  !  15ut  the  Lord  saw  it 
was  not  good  for  me,  tliat  my  reliance  miglit  be  wholly 
upon  liim,  and  not  on  man. 


206  THE   LIFE   OF 

When  1  liiul  set  up  my  liorse,  I  went  directly  to  the 
hall  where  the  sessions  were  held,  where  I  had  heen 
but  a  very  little  while  hefore  a  knot  of  my  old  acquaint- 
ance, espying  me,  came  to  me.  One  of  these  was  a 
scholar  in  his  gown,  another  a  surgeon  of  that  city, 
both  my  school-fellows  and  fellow-boarders  at  Thame 
School,  and  the  third  a  country  gentleman,  with  whom 
I  had  long  been  very  familiar. 

When  they  were  come  up  to  me,  they  all  saluted  me 
after  the  usual  manner,  putting  off  their  hats,  and 
bowing,  and  saying,  "Your  humble  servant,  sir";  ex- 
pecting, no  doubt,  the  like  from  me.  But  when  they 
saw  me  stand  still,  not  moving  my  cap,  Udr  bowing 
my  knee  in  any  way  of  conge  t(j  them,  they  were 
amazed,  and  looked  first  one  upon  aziother,  then  U])on 
me,  and  then  one  upon  am)ther  again  for  a  while, 
without  a  word  speaking.  At  length  the  surgeon,  a 
brisk  young  man,  who  stood  nearest  to  me,  clajiping 
liis  hand  in  a  familiar  way  up(m  my  shoulder,  and 
smiling  on  me,  said,  "What,  Tom,  a  Quaker?"  to 
M'liich  I  readily  and  cheeifully  answered,  "Yes,  a 
Qnakei'."  And  as  the  words  passed  out  of  my  mouth, 
I  felt  joy  spring  in  my  heart,  for  I  rejoiced  that  I  had 
not  been  drawn  out  by  them  into  a  compliance  with 
them;  and  that  I  liad  strength  and  Ixddness  given  me 
to  confess  myself  to  be  one  of  that  despised  people. 

Tliey  stayed  not  long  with  me,  nor  said  any  more, 
that  I  remember,  to  n-.e  ;  but  looldng  somewhat  con- 
fus<'dly  one  upon  another,  after  awhile  took  their  leave 
of  me,  going  off  in  the  same  ceremonious  manner  as 
they  came  on.  After  they  were  gone,  I  walked  awhile 
about  the  hall,  and  went  up  nearer  to  the  court,  to  ob- 
serve both  what  justices  were  on  the  bench  and  Avhat 
business  they  had  before  them.     And  I  went  in  fear, 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  207 

not  of  wliat  they  could  or  would  have  done  to  me,  if 
they  should  have  taken  notice  of  nie,  hut  lest  I  should 
he  surprised,  and  (h-awn  unwarily  into  that  which  I 
was  to  lieep  tait  ol. 

It  was  not  long  hefore  the  court  ailjdin'iied  to  go  to 
dinner,  and  that  time  I  toi)k  to  go  to  the  clerk  of  the 
peace  at  his  house,  whom  I  was  well  acquainted  with. 
So  soon  as  I  came  into  the  room  where  he  was,  he 
came  and  met  me,  and  saluted  me  after  his  manner  ; 
for  he  had  a  great  respect  for  my  father,  and  a  kind 
regard  for  me.  And  though  he  was  at  first  somewhat 
startled  at  my  can-iage  and  language,  yet  he  treated  me 
very  civilly,  without  any  reflection  or  show  of  lightness. 
I  delivered  him  the  recognizances  which  my  father  had 
sent,  and  having  done  the  husiness  I  canu'  upon,  with- 
drew, and  went  to  my  inn  to  refresh  myself,  and  then 
to  return  home.  But  wlien  1  was  ready  to  take  horse, 
looking  out  into  tlie  street,  I  saw  two  or  three  justices 
standing  just  in  the  way  where  I  was  to  ride.  This 
l)r(iught  a  fresli  concern  upon  me.  I  knew  if  they  saw 
me,  they  would  know  me;  and  I  concluded,  if  they 
knew  me,  they  would  stop  me  to  inquire  after  my 
father ;  and  I  douhted  how  I  should  come  oft"  with 
them. 

Tliis  douhtiug  hronght  weakness  on  me,  and  that 
weakuess  led  to  contrivance  how  I  might  av<jid  this 
tiial.  I  knew  the  city  i»retty  well,  and  rememhered 
there  M'as  a  hack  way,  which,  though  souiewhat  ahout, 
would  hring  me  out  of  town,  witluiut  ])assiug  by  those 
justices;  yet  loath  I  was  to  go  that  way.  Wherefore  I 
stayed  a  pretty  time,  in  hopes  they  would  have  parted 
company,  or  removed  to  some  other  place  out  of  my 
way.  But  when  I  had  waited  till  I  \\-as  uneasy  for 
losing  so  much  time,  haviiig  entereil  into  reasonings 


208  THE    LIFE   OF 

with  flesh  and  Llood,  the  weakness  prevailed  over  me, 
and  away  I  went  the  back  way,  wliich  brought  trouble 
and  grief  upon  my  spirits  for  having  shunned  the  cross. 

But  the  Lord  looked  on  me  with  a  tender  eye,  and, 
seeing  my  heart  was  right  to  him,  and  that  what  I  had 
done  was  merely  through  weakness  and  fear  of  falling, 
and  that  I  was  sensible  of  my  failing  therein,  and 
son-y  for  it,  he  was  graciously  pleased  to  pass  it  by, 
and  speak  peace  to  me  again.  So  that  before  I  got 
home,  as  when  I  went  in  the  morning,  my  heart  was 
full  of  breathing  prayer  to  the  Lord  that  he  would 
vouchsafe  to  be  with  me  and  u^ihold  and  cany  me 
through  that  day's  exei-cise  ;  so  now,  at  my  return  in 
the  evening,  my  heart  was  full  of  thankful  acknowl- 
edgments and  jmiises  unto  him  for  his  great  goodness 
and  favor  to  me,  in  having  thus  far  preserveil  imd  kejtt 
me  from  falling  into  anything  that  might  have  brouglit 
dishonor  to  his  holy  name,  which  I  had  now  taken  on 
me. 

But,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  thus  with  me,  and 
that  I  found  peace  and  acceptance  with  the  Lord  in 
some  good  degree,  according  to  my  obedience  to  the 
convictions  I  had  received  by  his  Holy  Sjjirit  in  me; 
yet  was  not  tlie  veil  so  done  away,  or  fully  rent,  but 
that  tliere  still  remained  a  cloud  upon  my  understand- 
ing with  respect  to  my  carriage  towards  my  father. 
And  that  notion  which  the  enemy  had  brought  into 
my  mind,  that  I  ought  to  put  such  a  diflerence  be- 
tween him  and  all  others,  as  that  on  the  account  of 
})aternal  relation,  I  should  still  dej)ort  myself  towards 
him,  l)oth  in  gesture  and  language,  as  I  had  always 
heretofore  done,  did  yet  prevail  with  me.  So  that  when 
I  came  home,  I  went  to  my  father  bareheaded,  as  I 
used  to  do,  and  gave  him  a  particular  account  of  the 


'   THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  209 

business  he  had  given  me  in  command,  in  such  man- 
ner that  he,  observing  no  alteration  in  my  carriage 
towards  him,  found  no  cause  to  take  offence  at  me. 

I  had  felt  for  some  time  before  an  earnest  desire  of 
mind  to  go  again  to  Isaac  Penington's.  And  I  began 
to  question  whether,  when  my  father  should  come  (as 
I  concluded  erelong  he  would)  to  understand  I  inclined 
to  settle  among  the  people  called  Quakers,  he  would 
permit  me  the  command  of  his  horses  as  before. 
Wherefore,  in  the  morning,  when  I  went  to  Oxford,  I 
gave  direction  to  a  servant  of  his  to  go  that  day  to  a 
gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  who  I  knew  had  a  i-id- 
ing  nag  to  put  off,  either  by  sale  or  to  be  kept  for  his 
work,  and  desired  him,  in  my  name,  to  send  him  to 
me,  which  he  did,  and  I  found  him  in  the  stable  when 
I  came  home. 

On  this  nag  I  designed  to  ride  next  day  to  Isaac 
Peniugtou's,  and  in  order  thereunto  arose  betimes  and 
got  myself  ready  for  the  journey ;  but  because  I  would 
pay  all  due  respects  to  my  father,  and  not  go  without 
bis  consent,  or  knowledge  at  the  least,  I  sent  one  up  to 
liim  (for  he  was  not  yet  stirring)  to  acquaint  liim  that 
I  had  a  purpose  to  go  to  Isaac  Penington's,  and  de- 
sired to  know  if  he  pleased  to  command  me  any  service 
to  them.  He  sent  me  word  he  would  speak  witli  me 
before  I  went,  and  would  have  me  come  up  to  him, 
which  I  did,  and  stood  by  his  bedside.  Then,  in  a  mild 
and  gentle  tone,  he  said,  "I  understand  you  have  a  mind 
to  go  to  Mr.  Penington's."  I  answered,  "  I  have  so." 
"Why,"  said  he,  "I  wonder  why  you  should.  You 
were  there,  you  know,  but  a  few  days  ago ;  and  un- 
less you  had  business  with  them,  don't  you  tliink  it 
will  look  oddly?"  I  said,  "I  tliought  not."  "I 
doubt,"  said  he,  "  you  '11  tire  them  with  your  com- 


210  THE   LIFE   OF 

pany,  and  make  tlioni  think  thoy  shall  ho  tronliled  with 
yovi."  ''  If,"  replied  I,  "  I  find  anything  of  that,  I  '11 
make  the  shorter  stay."  "But,"  said  he,  "can  you 
propose  any  sort  of  business  ^vith  them,  more  than  a 
mere  visit"?"  "Yes,"  said  I,  "I  propose  to  myself 
not  only  to  see  them,  but  to  have  some  discourse  with 
them."  "  Why,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  a  little  harsher, 
"I  hope  you  don't  incline  to  be  of  their  way." 
"Truly,"  answered  I,  "I  like  them  and  their  way 
very  well,  so  fiir  as  T  yet  understand  it ;  and  I  am  will- 
ing to  go  to  them  that  I  may  understand  it  better." 

Thereupon  he  began  to  reckon  up  a  bead-roll  of 
faults  against  the  Quakers;  telling  me  they  were  a 
rude,  unmannerly  people,  that  would  not  give  civil  re- 
spect or  honor  to  their  superiors,  no,  not  to  magistrates ; 
that  they  held  many  dangerous  princijdes;  that  they 
were  an  immodest,  shameless  people  ;  and  that  one  of 
them  stripped  himself  stark   naked,  and  went  in  that 
unseemly    maimer  about  the   streets,  at  fairs,  and  on 
market-days,  in  great  towns.     To  all  the  other  charges 
I  answered  only,  that  perhaps  they  might  be  either 
misreported  or  misunderstood,  as  the  best  of  people  had 
sometimes  been.    But  to  the  last  charge  of  going  naked, 
a  particular  answer,  by  way  of  instance,  was  just  then 
l)ronght  into  my  mind,  and  put  into  my  mouth,  which 
I  had  not  thought  of  before,  and  that  was,  the  example 
of  Isaiah,  who  went  naked  among  the  people  for  a  long 
time  (Isaiah  xx.  2,  3).     "Aye,"  said  my  father,  "but 
you  must  consider  that  he  was  a  prophet  of  the  Lord, 
and   had   an   express   command  from    God   to  do  so." 
"Yes,  sir,"  rejdied  I,  "  I  do  consider  that;   but  I  con- 
slider  also,  that  the  Jews,  among  whom  he  lived,  did 
not  oAvn  him  for  a  prophet,  nor  believe   that  he  had 
such  a  command  from  God.     And,"  added  1,  "how 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  211 

know  we  bat  that  tliis  Quaker  may  he  a  propliet  too, 
and  might  be  commanded  to  do  as  he  did,  fur  some  rea- 
son which  we  understand  not  f  " 

This  put  my  father  to  a  stand;  so  that,  letting  foil 
his  charges  against  the  Quakers,  he  only  said :  "I 
would  wish  you  uot  to  go  so  soon,  hut  take  a  little  time 
to  consider  of  it;  you  may  visit  Mr.  Penington  here- 
after." "  Nay,  sir,"  rei)lied  I,  "  ])ray  don't  hinder  my 
going  now,  for  I  have  so  strong  a  desire  to  go  that  I 
do  not  well  know  how  to  forbear."  And  as  I  spake 
these  words,  I  withdrew  gently  to  the  chamber  door, 
and  then,  hastening  down  stairs,  went  immediately  to 
the  sta1)le,  where,  finding  my  horse  ready  bridled,  I 
forthwith  mounted  and  went  off,  lest  I  should  receive  a 
countermand. 

This  discourse  with  my  father  had  cast  me  somewhat 
back  in  my  journey,  and  it  being  iifteen  hnig  miles 
thither,  the  ways  bad,  and  my  nag  but  small,  it  was  in 
the  afternoon  tliat  I  got  thither.  And  understanding 
by  the  servant  that  took  my  horse,  that  tlicrc  was  thou 
a  meeting  in  th(3  house  (;is  there  was  weekly  on  that 
day,  whicli  was  the  fourth  day  of  the  week,  thougli  I 
till  then  understood  it  not),  I  hastened  in,  and,  knowing 
the  rooms,  went  directly  to  the  little  parlor,  where  I 
found  a  few  Friends  sitting  together  in  silence,  and  I  sat 
dowai  among  tliem  well  satisfied,  though  without  words. 

When  the  meeting  was  ended,  and  those  of  tlie  com- 
pany who  were  strangers  withdrawn,  I  addresscnl  my- 
self to  Isaac  Penington  and  his  wife,  who  received  me 
courteously ;  but  n(jt  knowing  what  (>xercise  I  had  been 
in,  and  yet  was  under,  nor  having  lieard  anything  of 
me  since  I  had  l»een  there  before  in  another  garb,  were 
not  forward  at  first  to  Liy  sudden  hands  on  me;  whicli 
I  observed,  and  did  not  dislike.     But  as  they  came  to 


212  THE   LIFE   OF 

see  a  cliunge  in  me,  not  in  lialnt  only,  but  in  gesture, 
speech,  and  can-iage,  and  which  was  more,  in  counte- 
nance also  (fur  the  exercise  I  had  passed  through,  and 
yet  was  under,  had  imprintc'd  a  visible  character-  of 
gravity  upon  my  face),  they  were  exceedingly  kind  and 
tender  towards  me. 

There  was  then  in  the  family  a  Friend,  wdiose  name 
was   Anne    Curtis,    the   wife   of  Thomas    Curtis,    of 
Reading,  who  was  come   upon   a   visit    to  them,  and 
particularly  to    see  Mary  Peniugton's   daughter  Guli, 
who  had  been  ill  of  the  small-pox  since  I  had  been 
tliere     before.       Betwixt    Mary   Penington    and    this 
Friend  I  observed  some  private  discourse  and  whisper- 
ings,   and  I   had   an   apprehension  that  it  was  upon 
something  that  concernrd  me.     Wherefijre  I  to<dv  the 
freedom  to  ask  Mary  Penington  if  my  coming  thither 
had  occasioned  any  inconvenience  in  the  family  ;    she 
asked  me  if  I  liad  had  the  small-pox.     1  told  her  no. 
She  then  told  me  her  daughter  had  newly  had  them, 
and  though  she  was  well  recovered  of  tliem,  she  had 
not  as  yet  been  down  amongst  them,  but  had  intended 
to  come  down  and  sit  with  them  in  the  parlor  that 
evening;    yet  would  rather  forbear  till  another  time, 
than  endanger  me  :  and  that  that  was  the  matter  they 
Iiad  been   discoursing  of.     I   assured  her  that  I  had 
always  been,  and  then  more  especially  was,  free  from 
any  apprehension  of  danger  in  that  resjjcct,  and  there- 
fore entreated  that  her  daughter  might  come  down. 
And  although  they  were  somewhat  unwilling  to  yield 
to  it,  in  regard  of  me,  yet  my  importunity  prevailed, 
and  after  supper  she  did  come  down  and  sit  with  us  ; 
and  though  tlie  nuirks  of  the   distemjier  were   fresh 
upon  her,  yet  they  made  no  impression  upon  me,  faith 
keeping  out  fear. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  213 

We  .spont  much  of  the  evening  in  retiredness  of 
mind,  onr  spirits  being  weightily  gathered  inward, 
so  tliat  not  nineh  discourse  passed  among  us,  neither 
they  to  me,  nor  I  to  them  offered  any  occasion.  Yet  I 
had  good  satisfaction  in  that  stillness,  feeling  my  sitirit 
drawn  near  to  the  Lord  and  to  them  therein.  Before 
I  went  to  bed,  they  let  me  know  that  there  w'as  to  he 
a  meeting  at  WyconiV)C  next  day,  and  that  some  of  the 
fiimily  would  go  to  it.  I  was  very  glad  of  it,  for  I 
gi'eatly  desired  to  go  to  meetings,  and  this  fell  very 
aptly,  it  being  in  my  way  home.  Next  morning  Isaac 
Penington  himself  went,  having  Anne  Curtis  with  him, 
and  I  accompanied  them. 

At  Wycombe  we  met  with  Edward  Burrough,  M'ho 
came  fri>m  Oxford  thither  that  day  that  I,  going  thither, 
met  him  on  the  way ;  and  having  both  our  mountier- 
caps  on,  wc  recollected  that  we  had  met,  and  passed 
l)y  each  other  on  the  road  unknown. 

This  was  a  Monthly  Meeting,  consisting  of  Friends 
chiefly,  who  gathered  to  it  from  several  parts  of  the 
country  thereabouts,  so  that  it  was  pretty  large,  and 
was  held  in  a  fair  room  in  Jeremiah  Stevens's  house  ; 
the  room  where  I  had  been  at  a  meeting  before  in 
John  Raunce's  house  being  too  little  to  receive  us.  A 
very  good  meeting  was  this  in  itself  and  to  me.  Ed- 
ward Burrough's  ministry  came  forth  among  us  in 
life  and  power,  and  the  assem]>ly  was  covered  there- 
with. I  also,  according  to  my  small  capacity,  had  a 
share  therein ;  for  I  felt  some  of  that  divine  power 
working  my  si)irit  into  a  great  tenderness,  and  not 
only  confirming  me  in  tlie  course  I  Iiad  already  en- 
tered, and  strengthening  me  to  go  on  tlierein,  but 
rending  tlie  veil  also  somewhat  furtber,  and  cleMrin<;- 
my  understanding  in  some  other  things  wliicli   1  had 


214  •  THE   LIFE   OF 

not  seen  before.  For  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  make 
his  discoveries  to  me  by  degrees,  that  the  sight  of 
too  great  a  work,  and  too  many  enemies  to  encounter 
with  at  once,  might  not  discourage  me  and  make  me 
faint. 

When  the  meeting  was  ended,  the  Friends  of  the 
town  taking  notice  that  I  was  the  man  that  had  been 
at  their  meeting  the  week  before,  whom  they  then 
did  not  Ivuow,  some  of  them  came  and  spake  kivingly 
t(j  me,  and  would  have  had  me  stay  \A-ith  them  :  but 
Edward  Burrough  going  home  \nth  Isaac  Penington, 
he  invited  me  to  go  back  with  him,  which  I  willingly 
consented  to ;  for  the  love  I  had  more  particularly  to 
Edward  Burrough,  through  whose  miuisti-y  I  had  re- 
ceived the  first  awakening  stroke,  drew  me  to  desire 
his  company ;  and  so  away  we  rode  together.  But  I 
was  somewhat  disappointed  of  my  exiiectation,  for  I 
hoped  he  would  have  given  me  both  opportunity  and 
encMDuragement  to  open  myself  to  him,  and  to  pour 
forth  my  complaints,  fears,  doubts,  and  questions  into 
his  bosom.  But  he,  being  sensible  that  I  was  truly 
reached,  and  that  the  witness  of  God  was  raised,  and 
the  work  of  God  rightly  begun  in  me,  chose  to  leave 
me  to  the  guidance  of  the  good  spirit  in  myself,  the 
counsellor  that  can  rescdve  all  doubts,  that  I  might  not 
have  any  dependence  on  man.  Wherefore,  although 
he  was  naturally  f)f  an  open  and  free  temper  and  car- 
riage, and  was  afterwards  always  very  familiar  and 
affectionately  kind  to  me,  yet,  at  this  time,  he  kept 
himself  somewhat  reserved,  and  showed  only  common 
kinilness  to  me. 

Next  day  we  parted,  he  for  London,  T  home,  under 
a  very  great  weight  and  exercise  upon  my  spirit.  For 
I  now  saw,   in   and   by  the   forther   openings  of  the 


THOMAS   ELL  WOOD.  215 

divine  light  in  me,  that  tlie  enemy,  by  his  false 
reasonings,  had  beguiled  and  niitdcd  me,  with  respect 
to  my  carriage  towards  my  father.  For  I  now  clearly 
saw  the  honor  due  to  parents  di-l  not  consist  in  un- 
covering the  head  and  bowing  the  body  to  them,  but 
in  a  ready  obedience  to  their  lawful  commands,  and  in 
]ierforniing  all  needful  services  imto  them.  Wliere- 
fore,  as  I  was  greatly  troubled  for  wluit  I  already  liad 
done  in  that  case,  thougli  it  was  through  ignorance, 
so  I  plainly  felt  I  could  no  longer  continue  therein, 
without  drawing  on  myself  the  guilt  of  wilful  disobe- 
dience, which  I  well  knew  would  di-aw  after  it  Divine 
displeasure  and  judgment. 

Hereupon  the  enemy  assaulted  me  afresh,  setting 
before  me  the  danger  I  should  run  myself  into  of  pro- 
voking my  father  t(i  use  severity  towards  nu^,  and 
perhaps  to  the  casting  of  me  utterly  off.  But  over 
this  temptati<-)n  the  Lord,  whom  I  cried  unto,  sup- 
ported me,  and  gave  me  faitli  to  believe  that  he  would 
bear  me  through  whatever  might  befall  me  on  that 
account.  Wherefore  I  resolved,  in  the  strength  which 
he  should  give  me,  to  be  faithful  to  his  requirings, 
whatever  might  come  of  it. 

Thus  laboring  under  various  exercises  on  the  way, 
I  at  length  g(jt  home,  expecting  I  should  have  but  a 
rough  reception  from  my  father.  But  when  I  came 
liome,  I  understood  my  father  was  fnim  home.  Where- 
fore I  sat  down  by  tin;  fire  in  the  kitchen,  keejnng  my 
mind  retired  to  the  Lord,  with  breathings  of  spirit  to 
him,  that  I  might  be  preserved  from  falling. 

After  some  time  I  heard  the  coach  (hive  in,  whicli 
put  me  into  ;>  litthi  fear,  and  a  sort  of  shivering  came 
over  me.  But  liy  tliat  time  lie  was  aliglited  and  come 
in,   1  had  pretty  wtdl  recovered  myself;    aud  as  soon 


216  THE   LIFE   OF 

as  I  saw  him  I  rose  up,  and  advanced  a  step  or  two 
towards  lain,  with  my  head  covered,  aud  said,  '^  Isaac 
Peiiiiigton  aud  his  wife  remember  their  loves  to  tiiee." 
He  made  a  stop  to  heai"  what  I  said,  and  observing 
that  I  (h(l  not  stand  hare,  and  that  I  used  the  word 
thee  to  him,  lie  witli  a  stern  countenance,  and  tone 
that  spake  higli  displeasure,  only  said,  "I  shall  talk 
with  you,  sir,  another  time";  and  so,  hastening  from 
me,  went  into  the  parlor,  and  I  saw  him  no  more  that 
night. 

Though  1  foresaw  there  was  a  storm  arising,  the  ap- 
prehension of  which  was  uneasy  to  me,  yet  the  peace 
which  I  felt  in  my  o^x\\  breast  raised  in  me  a  return  of 
thanksgivings  to  the  Lord  for  his  gracious  supporting 
hand,  which  had  thus  tar  carried  me  through  this 
exercise ;  with  luunble  cries  in  spirit  to  him,  that  ho 
would  vouchsafe  to  stand  l)y  me  in  it  to  the  end,  and 
uphold  me,  that  I  might  m>t  fall. 

My  spirit  longed  to  be  among  Friends,  and  to  be  at 
some  meeting  with  them  on  the  first  day,  which  now 
drew  on,  this  being  the  sixth-day  niglit.  Wherefore  I 
puqiosed  to  go  to  Oxford  on  the  morrow,  which  was 
the  seventh  day  of  the  week,  having  heard  there  was 
a  meeting  there.  Accordingly,  having  ordered  my 
horse  to  be  ready  betimes,  1  got  up  in  the  morning 
and  made  myself  ready  also.  Yet  bef(n-e  I  would  go, 
that  I  might  be  as  observant  to  my  father  as  possibly 
I  could,  I  desired  my  sister  to  go  up  to  him  in  his 
chamber,  and  acquaint  liirn  that  I  had  a  mind  to  go 
to  Oxford,  and  desired  to  know  if  he  pleased  to  com- 
mand me  any  service  there.  He  l»id  her  tell  me  he 
would  not  have  me  go  till  he  had  spoken  with  me; 
and,  getting  up  immediately,  he  hastened  down  to  me 
before  he  was  quite  dressed. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  217 

As  soon  as  he  saw  me  standing  witli  my  liat  on,  his 
passion  transporting  liim,  he  fell  U2)on  ine  with  hoth  liis 
fists ;  and  liaving  by  tliat  means  somewhat  vented  his 
anger,  he  plucked  off  my  hat  and  threw  it  away.  Then 
stepping  hastily  out  to  the  stable,  and  seeing  my  Ix ar- 
rowed nag  stand  ready  saddled  and  bridled,  he  asked 
his  man  whence  that  horse  came;  who  telling  him  he 
fetched  it  from   Mr.   such  an  one's,   "  Then  ride  him 

presently  back,"  said  my  father,  ''and  tell  Mr. I 

desire  he  will  never  lend  my  son  a  horse  again,  unless 
he  brings  a  note  from  me.'' 

The  poor  fellow,  who  loved  me  well,  would  have 
fain  made  excuses  and  delays ;  but  my  father  was  pos- 
itive in  his  command,  and  so  urgent  that  he  W(juld  not 
let  him  stay  so  much  as  to  take  his  breakfast,  though  he 
had  five  miles  to  ride ;  nor  would  he  himself  stir  from 
the  stable  till  he  had  seen  the  man  mounted  and  gone. 
Then  coming  in,  he  went  up  into  his  chamber  to  make 
himself  more  fully  ready,  thinking  he  had  me  safe 
enough  now  my  horse  was  gone ;  for  I  took  so  much 
delight  in  riding  that  I  seldom  went  on  foot.  But 
while  he  was  dressing  himself  in  his  chamber,  I,  Avho 
understood  what  had  been  done,  changing  my  boots  for 
shoes,  took  another  hat,  and,  acquainting  my  sister, 
who  loved  me  very  well,  and  whom  I  could  confide  in, 
whither  I  meant  to  go,  went  out  privately,  and  walked 
away  to  Wycombe,  having  seven  long  miles  thither, 
which  yet  seemed  little  and  easy  to  me,  from  the  de- 
sire I  had  to  be  ainong  Friends. 

As  thus  I  travelled  all  alone,  under  the  load  of  grief, 
from  the  sense  1  had  of  the  opposition  and  hardship  I 
was  to  expect  from  my  father,  theene  my  took  advan- 
tage to  assault  me  again,  casting  a  d(jubt  into  my 
mind  whether  I  had  done  well  in  thus  coming  away 


218  THE   LIFE   OF 

from  my  father  without  his  leave  or  knowledge.  I  was 
quiet  and  pcaceahle  iu  my  si)irit  before  this  question 
was  darted  into  me ;  but  after  that,  disturbance  and 
trouble  seized  upon  me,  so  that  I  was  at  a  stand  what 
to  do,  whether  to  go  forward  or  backward.  Fear  of 
offending  inclined  me  to  go  back,  but  desire  of  meeting, 
and  to  be  with  Friends,  pressed  me  to  go  forwai'd.  I 
stood  still  awhile  to  consider  and  weigh,  as  well  as  I 
could,  the  matter.  I  was  sensibly  satisfied  that  I  had 
not  left  my  father  with  any  intention  of  nndutifulness 
or  disrespect  to  liim,  but  meridy  in  obedience  to  that 
drawing  of  spirit,  which  I  was  persuaded  was  of  the 
Lord,  to  join  with  his  people  in  worshipping  him :  and 
this  made  me  easy. 

But  then  the  enemy,  to  make  me  uneasy  again,  f>b- 
jected :  "  But  how  could  that  drawing  be  of  the  Lord, 
which  drew  me  to  disobey  my  father  I  "  I  Cf)nsidered 
thereupon  the  extent  of  paternal  power,  which  I  f^iund 
was  not  wholly  arbitrary  and  unlimited,  but  had  bounds 
set  unto  it ;  so  that,  as  in  civil  matters  it  was  restrained 
to  things  lawful,  so  in  spiritual  and  religious  cases  it 
had  not  a  compulsory  power  over  conscience,  which 
ought  to  be  subject  to  the  Heavenly  Father.  And 
therefore,  though  obedience  to  parents  be  enjoined  to 
children,  yet  it  is  with  this  limitation  in  the  Lord  : 
"  Children,  obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord;  for  this  is 
right."    (1  Pet.  vi.  L) 

This  turned  the  scale  for  going  forward,  and  so  on 
I  went.  And  yet  I  was  not  wholly  free  from  some 
fluctuations  of  mind,  from  the  besettings  of  the  enemy. 
Wherefore,  although  I  knew  that  outward  signs  did  not 
])ro])erIy  belong  to  the  gospel  dispensation,  yet  for  my 
better  assurance  I  did,  in  fear  iiiid  great  liuniility,  be- 
seech  the   Lord    that   he  would  be  pleased  so  far  to 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  210 

condescend  to  the  weakness  of  his  servant,  as  to  give 
me  a  sign  by  which  I  might  certainly  know  whether 
my  way  was  right  before  him  or  not. 

The  sign  which  I  asked  was,  that  if  I  had  done 
wrong  in  coming  as  I  did,  I  might  be  rejected,  or  but 
coklly  received  at  the  phice  I  was  going  to;  but  if 
this  my  undertaking  was  right  in  his  siglit,  that  he 
would  give  me  favor  with  tliem  I  went  to,  so  that 
they  shoukl  receive  me  with  kindness  and  demonstra- 
tions of  h)ve.  Accordingly,  when  I  came  to  John 
Raunce's  house  (which,  being  so  much  a  stranger  to 
all,  I  chose  to  go  to,  because  I  understood  the  meeting 
was  commonly  held  there),  they  received  me  witli  more 
than  ordinary  kindness,  especially  Frances  Eauuce, 
John  Raunce's  then  wife,  who  was  both  a  grave  and 
motherly  woman,  and  had  a  hearty  love  to  truth,  and 
tenderness  towards  all  that  in  sincerity  sought  after  it. 
And  this  so  land  reception,  confirming  me  in  the  belief 
that  my  undertaking  was  approved  of  by  the  Lord, 
gave  great  satisfaction  and  ease  to  my  mind  ;  and  I  was 
thankful  to  the  Lord  therefore. 

Thus  it  fared  with  me  there ;  but  at  home  it  fared 
otherwise  with  my  father.  He,  supposing  I  had  be- 
taken myself  to  my  chamber  when  he  took  my  hat 
from  me,  made  no  in([uiry  after  me  till  evening  came  ; 
and  then,  sitting  by  the  tire  and  considering  the  weather 
was  very  cold,  he  said  to  my  yister,  who  sat  by  him, 
''  Go  up  to  your  brother's  chamber,  and  call  him  down  ; 
it  may  be  he  will  sit  there  else,  in  a  sullen  fit,  till  he 
has  caught  cold."  "Alas!  sir,"  said  she,  "  he  is  not 
in  his  cliamber,  nor  in  tin;  house  either."  At  that  my 
father,  starthng,  said,  "  Why,  where  is  lus  then  '!  " 
"  I  know  not,  sir,"  said  she,  "  when;  he  is  ;  l)nt  I 
know  that  when  he  saw  you  had  sent  away  his  horse. 


220  THE   LIFE   OF 

he  put  on  shoes,  and  went  out  on  foot,  and  T  haA'e  not 
seen  liiiii  since.  And  indeed,  sir,"  added  she,  "  I  don't 
wonder  at  his  going  away,  considering  how  you  used 
him."  This  put  my  father  into  a  great  fright,  douht- 
ing  I  was  gone  quite  away ;  and  so  gi-eat  a  passion  of 
grief  seized  on  liim,  that  lie  forbore  not  to  weep,  and 
to  cry  out  aloud,  so  that  the  family  heard  him,  "Oh! 
my  son  !  I  shall  never  see  him  more  !  for  he  is  of  so 
l)(dd  and  rescdute  a  spirit,  that  he  will  run  himself  into 
danger,  and  so  may  be  thrcnvn  into  some  jail -or  other, 
where  he  may  lie  and  die  before  I  can  hear  of  him." 
Then  bidding  her  light  him  up  to  his  chamber,  he 
went  immediately  to  bed,  where  he  lay  restless  and 
groaning,  and  often  bemoaning  himself  and  me,  ft)rthe 
greatest  part  of  the  night. 

Next  morning  my  sister  sent  a  man,  whom  for  his 
love  to  me  she  knew  she  could  trust,  to  give  me  this 
account ;  and  though  by  him  she  sent  me  also  fresh 
linen  for  my  use,  in  case  I  should  go  farther,  or  stay 
out  longer,  yet  she  desired  me  to  come  home  as  soon 
as  I  could. 

This  account  was  very  uneasy  to  me.  I  was  much 
grieved  that  I  had  occasioned  so  much  grief  to  my 
father  ;  and  I  would  have  returned  that  evening  after 
the  meeting,  but  the  Friends  Avould  not  permit  it,  for 
the  meeting  would  in  likelihood  end  late,  the  days 
being  short,  and  the  way  was  long  and  dirty.  And 
besides,  John  Raunce  told  me  he  had  something  on  his 
mind  to  sjieak  to  my  father,  and  that  if  I  M'ould  stay 
till  next  day  he  would  go  down  with  me,  hoping,  per- 
haps, that  while  my  fatlier  was  under  this  sorrow  for 
me,  he  might  work  some  good  uj^on  him.  Hereupon, 
concluding  to  stay  till  the  morrow,  I  dismissed  the 
man  with  the  things  he  brought,  bidding  him  tell  my 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  221 

sister  I  intended,  God  willing,  to  return  home  to-mor- 
ruw  ;  and  charging  him  not  to  let  anybody  else  know 
that  he  had  seen  Tne,  or  where  he  had  been. 

Next  morning  J(jhn  Eaunce  and  I  set  out,  and  when 
we  were  come  to  the  end  of  the  town,  we  agreed  that 
he  should  go  before  and  knock  at  the  great  gate,  and 
I  would  come  a  little  after,  and  go  in  by  the  back  way. 
He  did  so;  and  when  a  servant  came  to  open  the  gate, 
he  asking  if  the  justice  were  at  home,  she  told  him  yes  ; 
and  desiring  him  to  come  in  and  sit  down  in  the  hall, 
went  and  ac([uainted  her  master  that  there  was  one 
who  desired  to  speak  with  hinr.  He,  supposing  it  was 
one  that  came  for  justice,  went  readily  into  the  hall  to 
him.  But  he  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  lie  found 
it  was  a  Quaker  ;  yet,  not  knowing  on  what  account 
he  came,  he  stayed  to  hear  his  business.  But  when  he 
found  it  was  about  me,  he  fell  somewhat  sharply  on 
liim. 

In  this  time  I  was  come  by  the  back  way  into  the 
kitchen,  and,  hearing  my  father's  voice  so  loud,  I  be- 
gan to  doubt  things  wrought  not  well ;  but  I  was  soon 
assured  of  that.  For  my  father,  having  quicdvly  enough 
of  the  Quaker's  company,  left  John  Raunce  in  the  hall, 
and  came  into  the  kitchen,  where  he  was  me)re  sur- 
prised to  find  me.  The  sight  of  my  hat  upon  my  head 
made  him  presently  forget  that  I  was  that  son  of  his 
whom  he  had  so  lately  lamented  as  lost ;  and  his  pas- 
sion of  grief  turning  into  anger,  he  cf)uld  not  contain 
liimself,  but,  running  upon  me  with  both  his  hands,  first 
violently  snatched  off  my  hat,  and  threw  it  away,  then, 
giving  me  some  buft'ets  upon  my  head,  he  said,  ''  Sir- 
rah, get  you  up  to  your  chamber."  1  fortliwitli  went, 
he  following  me  at  my  heels,  and  now  and  then  giving 
inc  a  whirret  on  the  ear,  which,  the  way  to  my  cham- 


222  THE  LIFE   OF 

l)er  Ijing  tlirongli  the  hall  \A'herc  John  Rannce  was, 
he,  poor  man,  might  see  and  he  sorry  for,  as  I  doubt 
not  that  he  was,  hut  could  not  help  me. 

This  was  sure  an  unaccountable  thing,  that  my 
father  should  but  a  day  before  express  so  high  a  sor- 
row for  me,  as  fearing  he  should  never  see  me  any 
more,  and  yet  now,  so  soon  as  he  did  see  me,  should 
Hy  upon  me  with  such  violence,  and  that  only  because 
I  did  not  put  off  my  hat,  which  he  knew  I  did  not  put 
on  in  disrespect  to  him,  but  upon  a  religious  princijde. 
But  as  this  hat-honor,  as  it  was  accounted,  was  grown 
to  be  a  great  idol,  in  those  times  more  especially,  so 
the  Lord  was  pleased  to  engage  his  servants  in  a 
steady  testimony  against  it,  what  suffering  soever  Avas 
brought  upon  them  for  it.  And  thougli  some  who 
have  been  called  into  the  Lord's  vineyard  at  later  houi's, 
and  since  the  heat  of  th.at  day  hath  been  much  over, 
may  be  apt  to  account  this  testimony  a  small  thing  to 
suffer  so  much  upon,  as  some  have  done,  not  only  to 
beating,  but  to  fines  and  long  and  hard  imprisonments; 
yet  they  who,  in  those  times,  were  faithfully  exercised 
in  and  under  it  durst  not  despise  the  day  tif  small 
things,  as  knowing  that  he  who  should  do  so  would 
not  be  thought  worthy  to  be  concerned  in  higlier  tes- 
timonies. 

I  had  now  lost  one  of  my  hats,  and  I  had  but  one 
more.  That  therefore  I  put  on,  but  I  did  not  keep  it 
huig,  for  the  next  time  my  father  saw  it  on  my  head, 
he  tore  it  violently  from  me,  and  laid  it  up  with  the 
other,  I  knew  not  where.  Wherefore  I  put  on  my 
mountier-ca]),  which  was  all  I  had  left  to  wear  on  my 
bead,  and  it  was  but  a  very  little  while  that  I  had  that 
to  wear  ;  for  as  soon  as  my  father  came  where  I  was,  I 
lost  that  aho.     And   now  I  was  forced  to  go  bare- 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  223 

headed,  wherever  I  had  occasion  to  go,  withiu  doors 
and  without. 

This  was  in  the  eleventla  month,  called  January, 
and  tlie  weather  sharp,  so  that  I,  who  had  been  bred 
up  more  tenderly,  took  so  great  a  cold  in  my  head, 
that  my  face  and  head  were  much  swelled,  and  my 
gums  had  on  them  boils  so  sore,  that  I  could  neither 
chew  meat,  nor  without  (Ufficulty  swallow  liciuids.  It 
held  long,  and  1  underwent  much  pain,  witliout  much 
j)ity,  except  from  my  poor  sister,  who  did  what  she 
could  to  give  me  ease ;  aiui  at  length,  by  fre(iueut 
applications  of  figs  and  stoned  raisins  toasted,  and  laid 
on  the  boils  as  h(.t  as  I  could  bear  them,  they  rii)ened 
fit  for  lancing,  and  soon  after  sunk  ;  then  1  had  ease. 

Now  was  I  laid  up  as  a  kind  of  prisoner  for  the  rest 
of  the  winter,  having  no  means  to  go  forth  among 
Friends,  nor  they  at  liberty  to  come  to  me.  Wherefore 
I  spent  the  time  much  in  my  chamber,  in  waiting  on 
the  Lord,  and  in  reading,  mostly  in  the  Bible.  15ut 
whenever  I  had  occasion  to  speak  to  my  father,  tlKiugh 
I  had  no  hat  now  to  offend  him,  yet  my  language  did 
as  much,  for  I  durst  not  say  yon  to  liim,  but  ihou  or 
thee,  as  the  occasion  required,  and  then  would  he  be 
sure  to  fall  on  me  with  liis  fists. 

At  one  of  these  times,  1  remember,  when  he  liad 
beaten  me  in  that  manner,  he  commanded  me,  as  he 
commonly  did  at  such  times,  to  go  to  my  chamber ; 
which  I  did,  and  ho  followed  me  to  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs.  Being  come  thither,  he  gave  me  a  parting 
l)low,  and  in  a  very  angry  tone  said,  "  Sirrali,  if  ever 
I  hear  you  say  thou  or  thee  to  me  again,  I'll  strik*' 
your  teeth  down  your  throat."  I  was  yreatly  grieved 
to  hear  him  say  so.  And  feeling  a  word  rise  in  my 
heart  unto  liini,  I  turned  again,  and  calmly  said  unto 


224  THE    LIFE    OF 

him,  ''Would  it  net  l>e  just  if  God  should  serve  thee 
so,  wliou  thou  sayest  tliua  or  thee  to  him  f  "  Though 
his  hand  was  up,  I  saw  it  sink  and  his  countenance 
fall,  and  he  turned  away  and  left  me  standing  there. 

But  I  notwithstanding  went  up  into  my  chamber, 
and  cried  unto  the  Lord,  earnestly  beseeching  him 
that  he  would  he  pleased  to  ojjeu  my  father's  eyes,  that 
he  might  see  whom  he  fought  against,  and  for  what ; 
and  that  he  would  turn  his  heart. 

After  this  I  had  a  pretty  time  of  rest  and  quiet  from 
these  disturbances,  my  father  not  saying  anything  to 
me,  nor  giving  me  occasion  to  say  anything  to  him. 
But  I  was  still  under  a  kind  of  confinement,  unless  I 
would  have  run  about  the  country  bareheaded  like  a 
madman ;  which  I  did  not  see  it  was  my  place  to  do. 
For  1  found  that,  althougli  to  be  abroad  and  at  liberty 
among  my  friends  would  have  been  more  pleasant  to 
me,  yet  home  was  at  present  my  proper  place,  a  school 
in  which  I  was  1o  learn  with  patience  to  bear  the  cross ; 
and  I  willingly  submitted  to  it. 

But  after  some  time  a  fi-esh  storm,  more  fierce  and 
sharp  than  any  before,  arose  and  fell  upon  me;  the 
occasion  whereof  was  this.  My  father,  who  (having 
been  in  his  younger  years,  more  especially  while  lie 
lived  in  London,  a  constant  hearer  t)f  tliose  who  are 
called  Puritan  preachers)  had  stored  up  a  pretty  stock 
of  Scri])ture  knowledge,  did  sometimes,  not  constantly 
nor  very  ctften,  cause  his  family  to  come  togetlier  on  a 
first  day  in  the  evening,  and  expound  a  chapter  to 
them,  and  pray.  His  fLvmily  now,  as  well  as  his  estate, 
was  lessened;  for  my  mother  was  dead,  my  brother 
gone,  and  my  elder  sister  at  London  ;  and  having  put 
oft'  his  husbandry,  he  had  put  off  with  it  most  of  his 
servants,  so  that  he  had  now  but  one  man  and  one 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  225 

maid-sei'vant.  It  so  fell  out,  that  on  a  f5i\st-day  night 
he  bid  my  sister,  who  sat  with  him  in  the  parlor,  call 
iu  the  servants  to  prayer. 

Whether  this  was  done  as  a  trial  upon  me  or  no,  I 
know  not,  but  a  trial  it  proved  to  me  ;  for  they  loving 
me  very  well,  and  disliking  my  father's  carriage  to  me, 
made  no  haste  to  go  in,  but  stayed  a  second  summons. 
This  so  offended  him,  that  when  at  length  they  did  go 
in,  he,  instead  of  going  to  prayer,  examined  them  why 
they  came  not  in  when  they  were  first  called  ;  and  the 
answer  they  gave  him  being  such  as  rather  heightened 
than  abated  his  displeasure,  he,  with  an  angry  tone, 
said,  "Call  in  that  fellow,"  (meaning  me,  who  was  left 
akine  in  the  kitchen),  "  for  he  is  the  cause  of  all  this." 
They,  as  they  were  backward  to  go  in  tiiemselves,  so 
were  not  forward  to  call  me  in,  fearing  the  effect  of  my 
father's  displeasure  would  fall  upon  me,  as  soon  it  did  ; 
for  I  hearing  what  was  said,  and  not  staying  for  the 
call,  went  in  of  myself.  And  as  soon  as  I  was  come  in 
my  father  discharged  his  displeasure  at  me  in  very 
sharp  and  l)itter  expressions,  which  drew  from  me,  iu 
the  grief  of  my  heart  to  see  him  so  transported  with 
l)assion,  these  few  words:  "They  that  can  pray  with 
such  a  spirit  let  them  ;  for  my  })art  I  cannot."  With 
that  my  father  iiew  upon  me  with  both  his  fists,  and, 
not  thinking  that  sufficient,  stepped  hastily  to  the  place 
where  his  cane  stood,  and  catching  that  up,  laid  on 
me,  I  thought,, with  all  his  strength.  And,  I  being 
bareheaded,  I  thouglit  his  blows  must  needs  have 
broken  my  skull,  had  I  not  laid  my  ann  over  my  head 
to  defend  it. 

His  man  seeing  this,  and  not  able  to  contain  himself, 
stepped  in  between  ns,  and,  laying  liold  on  the  cane, 
by  strength  of  hand   held   it  so  fast  tliat  though  he 


226  THE   LIFE   OF 

attempted  not  to  take  it  away,  yet  he  witliheld  my 
fatlier  from  striking  vvitli  it,  wliicli  did  but  ciinige  liim 
the  more.  I  disliked  this  in  the  man,  and  bid  him  let 
go  the  cane,  and  bo  gone,  wliich  he  hnmediat<'ly  did, 
and  tuniing  to  be  gone  had  a  blow  on  the  shoulders 
for  his  pains,  which  yet  did  not  much  hart  him.  But 
now  my  sister,  fearing  lest  my  father  should  fiiU  upon 
me  again,  besought  him  to  forbear,  adding,  "  Indeed, 
sir,  if  you  strike  him  any  more,  I  will  throw  open  the 
casement  and  cry  out  murder,  for  I  aui  afraid  you  will 
kill  my  brother."  This  stopped  his  hand,  aud  after 
some  threatening  speeches,  he  commanded  me  to  get  to 
my  chamber,  which  I  did  ;  as  I  always  did  whenever 
he  bid  me. 

Thither,  soon  after,  my  sister  followed  me  to  see  my 
arm  and  dress  it,  for  it  was  inde(;d  very  much  bruised 
and  swelled  between  the  wrist  and  the  elbow,  and  in 
s()nie  jtlaces  the  skin  was  brt)keu  aud  Ix'aten  off.  But 
though  it  was  very  sore,  and  I  felt  for  some  time  much 
I)ain  in  it,  yet  J  had  peace  and  quietness  in  my  miud, 
beiug  more  gri<!ved  for  my  father  than  for  myself,  who 
1  kn(^w  had  hurt  himself  more  than  me.  This  was,  so 
far  as  I  remember,  the  last  time  that  ever  my  father 
called  his  family  to  prayer.  And  this  was  also  the  last 
time  that  he  ever  fell,  so  severely  at  least,  upon  me. 

Soon  after  this  my  elder  sister,  who  in  all  the  time  of 
these  exercises  of  mine  had  been  at  London,  returned 
home,  much  troubled  to  find  me  a  Quaker, —  a  name  of 
reproach  aud  great  contempt  then ;  aud  she  being  at 
London  had  received,  T  su])pose,  the  worst  character  of 
them.  Yet,  though  she  disliked  the  jx'oide,  her  affec- 
tionate regard  to  me  made  her  rather  pity  than  de- 
spise nie  :  and  the  more,  when  she  understood  what 
hard  usage  1  had  met  Mith. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  227 

The  rest  of  this  winter  I  spent  in  a  knesome,  solitary 
life,  having  none  to  converse  with,  none  to  unbosom 
myself  unto,  none  to'  ask  counsel  of,  ncme  to  seek 
relief  from,  but  the  Lord  alone,  wluj  yet  was  more  than 
all.  And  yet  the  company  and  society  of  faithful  and 
judicious  friends  wouhl,  I  thought,  have  been  very  wel- 
come, as  well  as  helpful  to  me  in  my  spiritual  travail; 
in  which  I  thought  I  made  but  a  slow  progress,  my 
soul  breathing  after  further  attainments  :  the  sense  of 
which  drew  from  ma  the  following  lines :  — 

The  winter  tree 
Res;'mbles  me, 

Whoso  s;ip  lies  in  its  root: 
The  spring  draws  nigh  ; 
As  it,  so  I 

Shall  hud,  I  hope,  and  shoot. 

At  length  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  move  Isaac  Pening- 
ton  and  his  wife  to  make  a  visit  to  my  father,  and  se(( 
how  it  fared  with  me  :  and  very  welcome  they  were  to 
ma,  whatever  th(;y  were  to  him;  to  whom  1  doul>t  not 
but  they  would  have  been  more  widcome  had  it  not 
been  f  )rme.  They  tamed  with  us  all  night,  and  much 
di.-icourse  they  had  with  my  father  both  about  the  i)rin- 
cij)les  of  trutii  in  g(^neral,  and  me  in  ])articular,  which 
I  was  not  l)rivy  to.  But  one  tiling  1  remember  1  after- 
wards heard  of,  which  was  this:  — 

When  my  father  and  I  were  at  their  house  some 
months  l)efire,  Mary  i'enington,  in  some  discourse 
then,  had  told  him  how  hardly  lier  husband's  fathei-, 
Alderman  I'enington,  liad  dealt  witli  him  about  his 
hat ;  which  my  fatiier,  little  then  thinkhig  that  it 
would,  and  so  soon  too,  b<!  his  own  case,  did  very  much 
censure  the  alderman  for;  wondering  that  so  wise   a 


228  THE   LIFE    OF 

man  as  lie  was  should  tsi\n',  notice  of  sueh  a  trivial  thing 
as  the  putting  off"  or  keeping  on  of  a  hat ;  and  he  spared 
not  to  blame  him  liberally  for  it.  This  gave  her  a 
handle  to  take  hold  of  him  by.  And  having  had  an 
ancient  acquaintance  with  him,  and  he  having  always 
had  a  high  opinion  of  and  respect  for  her,  she,  who 
was  a  woman  of  great  wisdom,  of  ready  speech,  and  of 
a  well-resolved  spirit,  did  press  so  close  upcni  him  with 
this  home  argument,  that  he  was  utterly  to  seek,  and 
at  a  loss  how  to  defend  himself. 

After  dinner  next  day,  when  they  were  ready  to  take 
coach  to  return  home,  she  desii'ed  my  father  that,  since 
my  company  was  so  little  acceptable  to  him,  he  would 
give  me  leave  to  go  and  spend  some  time  with  them, 
where  I  should  be  sure  to  be  welcome.  He  was  very 
unwilling  I  should  go,  and  made  many  objections 
against  it,  all  which  she  answered  and  removed  so 
deni'ly,  that  not  finding  what  excuse  fartlier  to  allege, 
he  at  length  left  it  to  me,  and  I  soon  turned  the  scale 
for  going. 

We  were  come  to  the  coach  side  before  this  was  con- 
cluded on,  aiid  I  was  ready  to  step  in,  when  one  of  my 
sisters  privately  put  my  father  in  mind  that  I  had  never 
a  hat  on.  That  somewhat  startled  him,  for  he  did  not 
think  it  fit  I  should  go  from  home,  and  that  so  far, 
and  to  stay  abroad  without  a  hat.  Wherefore  he  whis- 
pered to  her  to  fetch  me  a  hat,  and  he  entertained  them 
with  some  discourse  in  the  mean  time.  But  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  hat  coming  he  would  not  stay  till  it  came, 
lest  I  should  put  it  on  before  him,  but,  breaking  off  his 
discourse  abruptly,  took  his  leave  of  them,  and  has- 
tened in  before  the  hat  was  brought  to  me. 

I  had  not  one  jienny  of  m(mey  about  me,  nor  indeed 
elsewhere  ;  for  my  father,  as  soon  as  he  saw  I  would 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  229 

be  a  Quaker,  took  from  me  b<,>tli  wliat  money  I  had, 
and  everything  else  of  vakie,  or  that  woukl  liave  made 
money,  as  some  phite  buttons,  rintrs,  etc.,  pretending 
that  he  wouhl  keep  them  for  me  till  I  came  to  myself 
again,  lest  I,  in  the  mean  time,  should  destroy  them. 
But  as  I  had  no  money,  so  being  among  my  friends  I 
had  no  need  of  any,  nor  ever  honed  after  it;  though 
once  upon  a  particular  occasion  I  had  like  to  have 
wanted  it ;  the  case  was  thus  :  — • 

I  had  been  at  Reading,  and  set  out  from  thence  on 
the  first  day  of  the  week  in  the  numiing,  intending  to 
reach  (as  in  point  of  time  I  well  miglit)  to  Isaac  Pen- 
ington's,  where  the  meeting  was  to  be  that  day  ;  but 
when  I  came  to  Maidenhead,  a  thorouglifcire  town  on 
the  way,  I  was  stopped  by  the  watch  for  riding  on 
that  day.  The  watchman,  laying  hold  on  the  bridle, 
told  me  I  must  go  with  him  to  the  constable  ;  and 
accordingly  I,  making  no  resistance,  suffered  him  to 
lead  my  horse  to  the  constable's  door.  When  we  were 
come  there,  the  constable  told  me  I  must  go  before  the 
warden,  who  was  the  chief  officer  of  that  town,  and  bid 
the  watchman  bring  me  on,  himself  walking  before. 

Being  come  to  the  warden's  door,  the  constable 
knocked,  and  desired  to  speak  with  Mr.  Warden.  He 
thereupon  quickly  coming  to  the  door,  the  constable 
said  :  ''  Sir,  I  have  brought  a  man  here  to  you,  wliom 
the  watch  took  riding  through  the  town."  The  war- 
den was  a  budge  old  man  ;  and  I  looked  somewhat 
big  too,  having  a  good  horse  under  me,  and  a  good 
riding  coat  on  my  back,  both  which  my  friend  Isaac 
Penington  had  kindly  accommodated  me  with  for  that 
journey.  The  warden  therefore,  taking  me  to  be,  as 
the  saying  is,  somebody,  put  off  his  hat  and  made  a  low 
conge  to  me ;  but  when  he  saw  that  I  sat  still,  and 


230  THE   LIFE   OF 

neither  bowed  to  him  nor  moA-ed  my  hat,  he  gave  a 
start,  and  said  to  the  constable  :  "  You  paid  yon  had 
brought  a  man,  but  he  dcm't  behave  himself  like  a 
man."  I  sat  still  upon  my  horse,  and  said  not  a  word, 
but  kept  my  mind  retired  to  the  Lord,  waiting  to  see 
what  this  would  come  to. 

The  warden  then  began  to  examine  me,  asking  me 
whence  I  came,  and  whither  I  was  going  :  I  told  him 
I  came  from  Reading,  and  was  going  to  Chalfoiit. 
He  asked  me  why  I  did  travel  on  that  day  :  I  told  him 
I  did  not  know  that  it  would  give  any  ofience  barely 
to  ride  or  to  walk  on  that  day,  so  long  as  I  did  not 
carry  or  drive  any  can'iage,  or  horses  laden  witli  bur- 
dens. "  Why,"  said  he,  "  if  your  business  was  urgent, 
did  you  not  take  a  pass  from  the  mayor  of  Reading  ?  " 
"  Because,"  replied  I,  ''  I  did  not  know  nor  think  I 
should  have  needed  one."  "Well,"  said  he,  "I  will 
not  talk  with  you  now,  becau.se  it  is  thne  to  go  to 
church,  but  I  will  examine  you  forther  anon."  And 
turning  to  the  constable,  *' Have  him,"  said  he,  "to 
an  inn,  and  biing  him  before  me  after  dinner." 

Tlie  naming  of  an  inn  put  me  in  mind  that  such 
public  houses  were  places  of  expense,  and  I  knew  I  had 
no  money  to  defray  it :  wherefore  I  said  to  the  warden : 
"  Before  thou  sendestmeto  an  inn,  which  may  occasion 
some  expense,  I  think  it  needful  to  acquaint  thee  that  I 
have  no  money."  At  that  the  warden  startled  again, 
and,  turning  quick  upon  me,  said,  "  How  !  no  money  ? 
How  can  that  be  '?  You  don't  look  like  a  man  that  has 
no  money."  "  However  I  look,"  said  I,  "  I  tell  thee 
the  truth,  that  T  have  no  money;  and  I  tell  it  to  fore- 
warn thee,  tliat  tliou  mayest  not  bring  any  charge  upon 
the  towai."  "  I  wonder,"  said  he,  "  what  art  you  have 
got,  that  you  can  travel  without  money ;  you  can  do 
more,  I  assure  you,  than  I  can." 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  231 

I  making  no  answer,  ho  went  on  and  said  :  "  Well, 
well!  but  if  you  have  no  money,  you  have  a  good 
liorse  under  you,  and  we  can  distrain  him  for  the 
charge."  "  But,"  said  I,  "  the  horse  is  not  mine." 
"No!"  said  he,  "but  you  have  a  good  coat  on  your 
back,  and  that  I  hope  is  your  own."  "  No,"  said  I, 
"  but  it  is  not,  for  I  borrowed  both  the  horse  and  "the 
coat."  With  that  the  warden,  holding  up  his  hands,  and 
smiling,  said,  "  Bless  me !  I  never  met  with  such  a  man 
as  you  are  before !  What !  were  you  set  out  by  the 
parish!"  Then  turning  to  the  constable,  he  said, 
"  Have  him  to  the  Greyhound,  and  bid  the  people  be 
civil  to  him."  Accordingly  to  the  Greyhound  I  was 
led,  my  horse  set  up,  and  I  put  into  a  large  room,  and 
some  account,  I  suppose,  given  of  me  to  the  people  of 
the  house. 

This  was  new  work  to  me,  and  what  the  issue  of  it 
would  be  I  could  not  foresee;  but,  being  left  there 
alone,  I  sat  down,  and  retired  in  spirit  to  the  Lord,  in 
whom  ah)ne  my  strength  and  safety  was,  and  begged 
support  of  him ;  even  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
give  me  wisdom  and  words  to  answer  the  warden, 
when  I  should  come  to  be  examined  again  before 
him. 

After  some  time,  having  pen,  ink,  and  paper  about 
me,  I  set  myself  to  write  what  I  thought  might  be 
proper,  if  occasion  served,  to  give  the  warden ;  and 
while  I  was  writing,  the  master  of  the  house,  being 
come  home  from  his  worship,  sent  the  tapster  to  me, 
to  invite  me  to  dine  with  him.  I  bid  him  tell  his 
master  tliat  I  had  not  any  money  to  pay  for  my  dinner. 
He  sent  thr  man  again  to  tell  me  I  should  be  welcome 
to  dine  vvith  him,  though  I  had  no  money.  I  desired 
him  to  tell  his  master  that  I  was  very  sensible  of  his 


232  THE    LIFE    OF 

civility  and  kindness  in  so  courteously  inviting  me  to 
his  table,  but  that  I  had  not  freedom  to  eat  of  his  meat 
unless  I  could  have  paid  for  it.  80  he  went  on  with 
his  dinner,  and  I  with  my  writing. 

But  before  I  had  finished  what  was  on  my  mind  to 
write,  the  constable  came  again,  bringing  with  him  his 
fellow-constable.  This  was  a  brisk,  genteel  young 
man,  a  shopkeeper  in  the  town,  whose  name  was 
Cheny.  They  saluted  me  very  civilly,  and  told  me 
they  were  come  to  have  me  before  the  warden.  This 
put  an  end  to  my  wTitiug,  which  I  put  mto  my  pocket, 
and  went  along  with  them. 

Being  come  to  the  warden's,  he  asked  me  again  the 
same  questions  he  had  asked  me  before ;  to  which  I 
gave  him  the  like  answers.  Then  he  told  me  the  pen- 
alty I  had  incun-ed,  which  he  said  was  either  to  pay  so 
much  money,  or  lie  so  many  hours  in  the  stocks,  and 
asked  me  which  I  would  choose.  I  replied,  "  I  shall 
not  choose  either.  And,"  said  I,  ''  I  have  told  thee 
already  that  I  have  no  money;  though  if  I  had,  I 
could  not  so  far  acknowledge  myself  an  offender  as  to 
pay  any.  But  as  to  lying  in  the  stocks,  I  am  in  thy 
power  to  do  unto  me  what  it  shall  please  the  Lord  to 
suffer  thee." 

When  he  heard  that,  he  paused  awhile,  and  then 
told  me  he  considered  that  I  was  but  a  young 
man,  and  might  not  perhaps  understand  the  danger 
I  had  brought  myself  into,  and  therefore  he  would  not 
use  the  severity  of  the  law  upon  me ;  but  in  hopes 
that  I  would  be  wiser  hereafter,  he  would  pass  by  this 
offence,  and  discharge  me. 

Then,  putting  on  a  countenance  of  the  greatest 
gravity,  he  said  to  me:  ''But,  young  man,  I  would 
have  you  know  that  you  have  not  only  broken  the 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  233 

law  of  the  land,  l»ut  the  law  f»f  God  also  ;  and  there- 
fore you  ought  to  ask  him  forgiveness,  for  you  have 
offended  him."  ''That,"  said  I,  "I  would  most 
willingly  do  if  I  were  seusilde  that  in  this  case  1  had 
offended  him  hy  breaking  any  law  of  his."  "Why," 
said  he,  "  do  yon  question  that  ?  "  "  Yes,  truly,"  said 
I,  "  for  I  do  not  know  that  any  law  of  God  dotli  forbid 
me  to  ride  on  this  day." 

"  No  !  "  said  he,  "  that 's  strange  !  Where,  I  won- 
der, was  you  bred  ?  You  can  read,  can't  you "?  "  "  Yes," 
said  I,  "  that  I  can."  "  Don't  you  then  read,"  said 
he,  "  the  commandment,  '  Remember  the  Sabbath 
day  to  keep  it  holy.  Six  days  shalt  thou  labor  and 
do  all  thy  work ;  but  the  seventh  day  is  the  Sabbatli 
of  the  Lord ;  in  it  thou  shalt  not  do  any  work '  f  " 
"  Yes,"  replied  I,  "  I  have  both  read  it  often,  and 
remember  it  very  well.  But  that  command  was 
given  to  the  Jews,  not  to  Christians ;  and  this  is  not 
that  day,  for  that  was  the  seventh  day,  but  this  is  the 
first."  "How!"  said  he,  "do  you  know  the  days 
of  the  week  no  better  f  You  had  need  then  be  better 
taught." 

Here  the  younger  constable,  whose  name  was  Cherry, 
interposing,  said,  "  Mr.  Warden,  the  gentleman  is  in 
the  right  as  to  that,  for  this  is  the  first  day  of  the 
week,  and  not  the  seventh."  This  the  old  warden 
took  in  dudgeon  ;  and,  looking  severely  on  the  con- 
stable, said:  "  What !  do  you  take  upon  you  to  teach 
me?  I'll  have  you  know  I  will  not  be  taught  by 
you."  "  As  you  please  for  that,  sir,"  said  the  constable, 
"  but  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken  in  this  point ;  for 
Saturday,  I  know,  is  the  seventh  day,  and  you  know 
yesterday  was  Saturday." 

This  made  the  warden  hot  and  testy,  and  put  him 


234  THE   LIFE   OF 

almost,  out  of  all  patience,  so  that  T  feared  it  would  have 
come  to  a  downright  quarrel  hetwixt  them,  for  both 
were  confident  and  neither  would  yield.  And  so 
earnestly  were  they  engaged  in  the  contest,  that  there 
was  no  room  for  me  to  put  in  a  word  between  them. 
At  length  the  old  man,  having  talked  himself  out  of 
wind,  stood  still  awhile  as  it  were  to  take  breath,  and 
then,  bethinking  himself  of  me,  he  turned  to  me  and 
said :  '*  You  are  discharged,  and  may  take  your  lib- 
erty to  go  about  your  occasions."  "  But,"  said  I,  "  I 
desire  my  horse  may  be  discharged  too,  else  I  know 
not  how  to  go."  ''  Aye,  aye,"  said  he,  "  you  shall 
have  your  horse  " ;  and,  turning  to  the  other  consta- 
ble, who  had  not  offended  him,  he  said,  "  Go,  see  that 
his  horse  be  delivered  to  hiin." 

Away  thereupon  went  I  with  that  constable,  leaving 
the  old  warden  and  the  young  constable  to  compose 
their  difference  as  they  could.  Being  come  to  the 
inn,  the  constable  called  for  my  horse  to  be  brought 
out ;  which  done,  I  immediately  mounted,  and  began 
to  set  forward.  But  the  ostler,  not  knowing  the  con- 
dition of  my  pocket,  said  modestly  to  me,  "  Sir,  don't 
you  forget  to  pay  for  your  horse's  standing ?  "  "No, 
truly,"  said  I,  "  I  don't  forget  it,  but  I  have  no  money 
to  pay  it  with,  and  so  I  told  the  warden  before." 
"  Well,  hold  you  your  tongue,"  said  the  constable 
to  the  ostler,  ''  I  '11  see  you  paid."  Then  opening  the 
gate  they  let  me  out,  the  constable  wishing  me  a  good 
journey,  and  through  the  town  I  rode  without  further 
molestation ;  though  it  was  as  much  Sabbath,  1 
thought,  when  I  went  out,  as  it  was  when  I  came  in. 

A  secret  joy  arose  in  me  as  I  rode  on  the  way,  fir 
that  I  had  been  ])reserve(l  from  doing  or  saying  any- 
thing which  might  give  the  adversaries  of  truth   ad- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  2^)5 

vantage  against  it  or  the  friends  of  it ;  and  praises 
sprang  in  my  thankful  heart  to  the  Lord,  my  pre- 
server. It  added  also  not  a  little  to  my  joy  that  I 
felt  the  Lord  near  unto  me,  by  his  witness  in  my 
heart,  to  check  and  warn  me ;  and  my  spirit  was  so  far 
subjected  to  him,  as  readily  to  take  warning,  and  stop 
at  his  check  j  an  instance  of  both,  that  very  morning, 
I  had. 

For  as  I  rode  between  Reading  and  Maidenhead,  I 
saw  lying  in  my  way  the  scabbard  of  a  hanger,  wliich, 
having  hjst  its  hook,  had  slipped  off,  I  suppose,  and 
dropped  from  the  side  of  the  wearer ;  and  it  had  in  it 
a  pair  of  knives,  whose  hafts,  being  inlaid  with  silver, 
seemed  to  be  of  some  value.  I  alighted  and  took  it 
up,  and,  clapping  it  between  my  thigh  and  the  saddle, 
rode  on  a  little  way  ;  but  I  quickly  found  it  too  heavy 
for  me.  and  the  reprover  in  me  soon  began  to  check. 
The  words  arose  in  me,  "  What  hast  thou  to  do  witli 
that  ?  D(jth  it  belong  to  thee  f  "  I  felt  I  had  done 
amiss  in  taking  it ;  wherefore  I  turned  back  to  the 
place  where  it  lay,  and  laid  it  down  where  I  found  it. 
And  when  afterwards  I  was  stopped  and  seized  on  at 
Maidenhead,  I  saw  there  was  a  providence  in  not 
bringing  it  with  me,  which,  if  it  should  have  been 
found  (as  it  needs  must)  under  my  coat  when  I  came 
to  be  unhorsed,  might  have  raised  some  evil  suspicion 
or  sinister  thoughts  concerning  me. 

The  stop  I  met  with  at  Maidenhead  had  spent  me 
so  much  time,  that  when  I  came  to  Isaac  Peniugton's, 
the  meeting  there  was  half  over,  which  gave  them 
occasi(m,  after  meeting,  to  iufpiire  of  me  if  anything 
had  befallen  inc  on  the  way,  whicli  liad  caused  me  to 
come  so  late :  whereupon  I  related  to  tlu'm  what  exer- 
cise I  had  met  with,  and  how  the  Lord  had  helped  me 


236  THE   LIFE   OF 

through  it ;  which  when  they  had  heard,  they  rejoiced 
with  me,  and  for  my  sake. 

Great  was  the  love  and  manifold  the  kindness  which 
I  received  from  these  my  worthy  friends,  Isaac  and 
Mary  Penington,  while  I  abode  in  their  family.  They 
were  indeed  as  affectionate  parents  and  tender  nurses 
to  me  in  this  time  of  my  religious  childliood.  For, 
besides  their  weighty  and  seasonable  counsels  and  ex- 
emplary conversations,  they  famished  me  with  means 
to  go  to  the  other  meetings  of  Friends  in  that  country, 
when  the  meeting  was  not  in  their  own  house.  And, 
indeed,  the  time  I  stayed  with  them  was  so  well  spent 
that  it  not  only  yielded  great  satisfaction  to  my  mind, 
but  turned,  in  good  measure,  to  my  spiritual  advantage 
in  the  truth. 

But  that  I  might  not,  on  the  one  hand,  bear  too 
hard  upon  my  friends,  nor  on  the  otlier  hand  forget  the 
house  of  thraldom,  after  I  had  stayed  with  them  some 
six  or  seven  weeks,  from  the  time  called  Easter  to  the 
time  called  Whitsuntide,  I  took  my  leave  of  them  to 
depart  home,  intending  to  walk  to  Wycombe  in  one 
day,  and  from  thence  home  in  another. 

The  day  that  I  came  home  I  did  not  see  my  father, 
nor  until  noon  the  next  day,  when  I  went  into  the 
parlor  where  he  was,  to  take  my  usual  place  at  din- 
ner. As  soon  as  I  came  in  I  observed  by  my  fatlier's 
countenance  that  my  hat  was  still  an  offence  to  him ; 
but  when  I  was  sitting  down,  and  before  I  had  eaten 
anything,  he  made  me  understand  it  more  fully,  but 
in  a  milder  tone  than  he  had  formerly  used  to  sj^eak 
to  me  in.  "If  you  cannot  content  yourself  to  come  to 
dinner  without  your  hive  on  your  head  [so  he  called 
my  liat],  pray  rise,  and  go  take  your  dinner  somewhere 
else." 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD.  237 

Upon  those  words  I  arose  from  the  table,  and  leav- 
ing the  room  went  into  the  kitchen,  wliere  I  stayed  till 
the  servants  went  to  dinner,  and  tlien  sat  down  very 
contentedly  with  them.  Yet  I  suppose  my  father 
might  intend  that  I  should  have  gone  into  some  other 
room,  and  there  have  eaten  by  myself.  But  I  chose 
rather  to  eat  with  the  servants,  and  did  so  from 
thenceforward,  so  long  as  he  and  I  lived  together. 
And  from  this  time  he  rather  chose,  as  I  thought,  to 
avoid  seeing  me,  than  to  renew  the  quarrel  about  my 
hat. 

My  sisters,  meanwhile,  observing  my  wariness  iiL 
words  and  behavior,  and  being  satisfied,  I  suppose, 
that  I  acted  upon  a  principle  of  religion  and  con- 
science, carried  themselves  very  kindly  to  me,  and  did 
what  they  could  to  mitigate  my  father's  displeasure 
against  me.  So  that  I  now  enjoyed  much  more  quiet 
at  home,  and  took  more  liberty  to  go  abroad  auKnigst 
my  friends,  than  I  had  done  or  could  do  before.  And 
having  informed  myself  where  any  meetings  of  Friends 
were  held,  within  a  reasonable  distance  from  me,  I 
resorted  to  them. 

As  thus  I  daily  waited  on  the  Lord,  a  weighty  and 
unusual  exercise  came  upon  me,  which  bowed  my  spirit 
very  low  bef  )re  the  Lord.  I  had  seen,  in  the  light  of 
the  Lord,  the  horrible  guilt  of  those  deceitful  priests, 
of  divers  sorts  and  denominations,  who  made  a  trade  of 
preacliing,  and  for  filthy  lucre's  sake  held  the  people 
always  learning ;  yet  so  taught  them  as  that,  by  their 
teaching  and  ministry,  they  were  never  able  to  conn^ 
t » the  knowledge,  much  less  to  the  acknowledgment  of 
the  truth:  for  as  they  themselves  hated  the  light,  be- 
cause their  own  deeds  were  evil,  so  by  reviling,  rejiroach- 
ing,  and  blaspheming  the  true  light,  wherewith  every 


238  THE   LIFE   OF 

man  that  eometh  into  the  world  is  enlightened  (John 
i.  9.),  they  begat  in  the  people  a  disesteem  of  the 
light;  and  labored,  as  much  as  in  them  lay,  to  keep 
their  hearers  in  the  darkness,  that  they  might  not  be 
turned  to  the  light  in  themselves,  lest  by  the  light  they 
should  discover  the  wickedness  of  these  their  deceitful 
teachers,  and  turn  from  them. 

Against  this  practice  of  these  false  teachers,  the 
zeal  of  the  Lord  had  flamed  in  my  breast  for  some 
time ;  and  now  the  burden  of  the  word  of  the  Lord 
against  them  fell  heavy  upon  me,  with  command  to 
prochiim  his  controversy  against  them. 

Fain  would  I  have  been  excused  from  this  service, 
which  I  judged  too  heavy  for  me ;  wherefore  I  be- 
si>ught  the  Lord  to  take  this  weight  from  off  me,  who 
was  in  every  respect  but  young,  and  lay  it  upon  some 
other  of  his  servants,  of  whom  he  had  many,  who 
were  much  more  able  and  fit  for  it.  But  tlie  Lord 
M'ould  not  be  entreated,  but  continued  the  burden  upon 
me  with  greater  weight ;  requiring  obedience  from  me, 
and  promising  to  assist  me  therein.  Whereupon  I 
arose  from  my  bed,  and,  in  the  fear  and  dread  of  the 
Lord,  committed  to  writing  what  he,  in  the  motion  of 
his  divine  spirit,  dictated  to  me  to  write.  When  I 
had  done  it,  though  the  sharpness  of  the  message 
therein  delivered  was  hard  to  my  natui-e  to  be  the 
publisher  of,  yet  I  found  acceptance  with  the  Lord  in 
my  obedience  to  his  will,  and  liis  peace  filled  my  heart. 
As  soon  as  I  ctmld,  I  connnunicated  to  my  friends  what 
I  had  written ;  and  it  was  printed  in  the  year  16G0, 
in  one  sheet  of  paper,  under  the  title  of  "  An  Alarm 
to  the  Priests ;  or,  A  Message  from  Heaven  to  fore- 
warn them,  etc." 

Some  time  after  the  publishing  of  this  paper  hav- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  239 

ing  occasion  to  go  to  London,  I  went  to  visit  George 
Fox  the  younger,  who,  with  another  Friend,  was  then 
a  prisoner  in  a  messenger's  hands.  I  had  never  seen 
him,  nor  he  me  before ;  yet  this  pajK'r  lying  on  the 
table  before  him,  he,  pointing  to  it,  asked  me  if  I  was 
the  person  that  wrote  it.  I  told  him  I  was.  "It's 
much,"  said  the  other  Friend,  "that  they  bear  it." 
"It  is,"  replied  he,  "their  portion,  and  they  must 
bear  it." 

While  I  was  in  London,  I  went  to  a  little  meeting 
of  Friends,  which  was  held  in  the  house  of  one  Hum- 
phrey Bache,  a  goldsmith,  at  the  sign  of  The  l^nail,  in 
Tower  Street.  It  was  then  a  very  troublesome  time, 
not  from  the  government,  but  from  the  rabble  of  boys 
and  rude  people,  who,  upon  the  turn  of  the  times  at 
the  return  of  the  king,  took  liberty  to  be  very  abusive. 

When  the  meeting  was  ended,  a  pretty  number  of 
these  unruly  folk  were  got  together  at  the  dt)or,  ready 
to  receive  the  Friends  as  they  came  forth,  not  only 
with  evil  words,  but  with  blows;  which  I  saw  they 
bestowed  freely  on  some  of  them  that  were  gone  out 
before  me,  and  expected  I  should  have  my  share  wlien 
I  came  amongst  them.  But,  quite  contrary  to  my 
expectation,  when  I  came  out,  they  said  one  to  another, 
"Let  him  alone;  don't  meddle  with  him;  he  is  no 
Quaker,  I  '11  warrant  yt)U." 

This  struck  me,  and  was  worse  to  me  than  if  they 
had  laid  tlieir  fists  on  me,  as  they  did  on  others.  I 
was  troubled  to  think  what  the  matter  was,  or  A\hat 
these  rude  peojjle  saw  in  me  that  made  them  not  take 
me  for  a  Quaker.  And  upon  a  close  examination  of 
myself,  with  respect  to  my  habit  and  deportment,  I 
could  not  find  anything  to  place  it  on,  but  tliat  1  liad 
tlien  on  luy  liead  a  large  mounticr-cap  of  black  vel- 


240  THE    LIFE    OF 

vet,  the  skirt  of  which  being  turned  up  in  folds,  looked, 
it  seems,  somewhat  above  the  then  common  garb  of  a 
Quaker ;  and  tliis  put  me  out  of  couceit  with  my  cap. 

I  came  at  this  time  to  London  from  Isaac  Pening- 
ton's,  and  thither  I  went  again  i:i  my  way  home;  and 
while  I  stayed  there,  amongtjt  other  Friends  who  came 
thither,  Thomas  Loe,  of  Oxford,  was  one.  A  faithful 
and  diligent  laborer  he  was  in  the  work  of  the  Lord, 
and  an  excellent  ministerial  gift  he  had.  And  I  in 
my  zeal  for  truth,  being  very  desirous  that  my  neigh- 
bors might  have  an  opportunity  of  liearing  the  gospel, 
the  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  livingly  and  pow- 
erfully preached  among  them,  entered  into  commu- 
nication with  him  about  it;  offering  to  procure  some 
convenient  place  in  the  town  where  I  lived,  for  a 
meeting  to  be  held,  and  to  invite  my  neighbors  to 
it,  if  he  could  give  me  any  ground  to  expect  his  com- 
pany at  it.  He  told  me  he  was  not  at  his  own  com- 
mand, but  at  the  Lord's,  and  he  knew  not  how  he 
might  dispose  of  him  ;  but  wished  me,  if  I  found,  when 
I  was  come  home,  that  the  thing  continued  with  weight 
upon  my  mind,  and  that  I  could  get  a  fit  place  for  a 
meeting,  I  wotdd  advertise  liim  of  it  by  a  few  lines, 
directed  to  him  in  Oxford,  wliither  he  was  then  going, 
and  he  might  then  let  me  know  how  his  freedom  stood 
in  that  matter. 

When  therefore  I  was  come  home,  and  had  treated 
with  a  neighbor  for  a  place  to  have  a  meeting  in,  I 
wrote  to  my  friend,  Thomas  Loe,  to  acquaint  liim  tliat 
I  had  procured  a  place  for  a  meeting,  and  would  invite 
company  to  it,  if  lie  would  fix  the  time,  and  give  mc 
some  ground  to  hope  that  he  would  be  at  it. 

This  letter  I  sent  by  a  neighbor  to  Thame,  to  bo 
given  to  a  dyer  of  Oxford,  who  constantly  kept  Thame 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  241 

market,  with  wliom  I  was  pretty  well  aeqnr.inted,  hav- 
ing sometimes  formerly  used  him,  not  only  in  his  way 
of  trade,  but  to  carry  letters  between  my  brother  and 
me,  when  he  was  a  student  in  that  university,  for  which 
he  was  always  paid,  and  he  had  been  so  careful  in  the 
delivery  that  our  letters  had  always  gone  safe  until 
now.  But  this  time  (Providence  so  ordering,  or,  at 
least,  for  my  trial  permitting  it)  this  letter  of  mine, 
instead  of  being  delivered  according  to  its  direction, 
was  seized  and  carried,  as  I  was  told,  to  the  Lord 
Faulkland,  who  was  then  called  lord  lieutenant  of  that 
county. 

The  occasion  of  this  stopping  of  letters  at  that  time 
was  that  mad  prank  of  those  infotuated  Fifth-mon- 
archy men,  who,  from  their  meeting-house  in  Ctdeman 
Street,  London,  breaking  forth  in  arms,  under  the  com- 
mand of  their  chieftain,  Venner,  made  an  insun-ection 
in  the  city,  on  pret(>nce  of  setting  up  the  kingdom  of 
Jesus,  who,  it  is  said,  they  exjiected  would  come  down 
from  Heaven  to  be  their  leader.  So  little  understood 
they  the  nature  of  liis  kingdom,  though  he  himself  had 
declared  it  was  not  of  this  world. 

The  king,  a  littl(>  Ix'fore  his  amval  in  England,  had 
by  his  declaration  from  Breda,  given  assurance  of  lib- 
erty to  tender  consciences,  and  that  no  man  should  be 
disquieted,  or  called  in  question  for  ditference  of  opinion 
in  matters  of  religion,  who  did  not  disturb  the  peace  of 
the  kingdom.  Upon  this  assurance  dissenters  of  all 
sorts  relied,  and  held  themselves  secure.  But  now,  by 
tliis  frantic  action  of  a  few  hot-brained  men,  the  king 
was  by  some  held  discharged  from  his  royal  won\  and 
promise,  in  his  foregoing  declaration  ]»ubli('ly  given. 
And  hereupon  letters  were  intercepted  and  broken 
open,    for    discovery   of   suspected   plots   and  designs 


242  THE    LIFE    OF 

against  the  government ;  and  not  only  dissenters' 
meetings,  of  all  sorts,  without  distinction,  were  dis- 
turbed, hut  very  many  were  imprisoned  in  most  parts 
througliout  the  nation ;  and  great  search  there  was, 
in  all  counties,  for  suspected  persons,  who,  if  not 
found  at  meetings,  were  fetched  in  from  their  own 
houses. 

The  Lord  Lieutenant  (so  called)  of  Oxfordshire  had 
on  this  occasion  taken  Thomas  Loe  and  many  other 
of  our  friends  at  a  meeting,  and  sent  them  prisoners 
to  Oxford  Castle,  just  before  my  letter  was  brought  to 
his  hand,  wherein  I  liad  invited  Thomas  Loe  to  a 
meeting,  and  he,  jnitting  the  worst  construction  upon 
it,  as  if  I  (a  poor  simple  lad)  had  intended  a  seditious 
meeting,  in  order  to  raise  rebellion,  ordered  two  of  the 
deputy  lieutenants,  who  lived  nearest  to  me,  to  send  a 
party  of  horse  to  fetch  me  in. 

Accordingly,  while  I,  wlifdly  ignorant  of  what  had 
passed  at  Oxford,  was  in  daily  expectation  of  an 
agreeable  answer  to  my  letter,  came  a  party  of  horse 
one  morning  to  my  father's  gate  and  asked  for  me. 
It  so  ii'U  out  that  my  father  was  at  that  time  fi-om 
liome,  I  think  in  London  ;  whereupon  he  that  com- 
manded the  party  alighted  and  came  in.  My  eldest 
sister,  hearing  the  noise  of  scddiers,  came  liastily  uji 
into  my  chamber,  and  told  me  there  were  soldiers  be- 
low, who  inquired  for  me.  I  forthwith  went  down  to 
them,  and  found  the  commander  was  a  barber  of 
Thame,  and  one  who  had  always  been  my  barber  till 
I  was  a  Quaker.  His  name  was  Whately,  a  bold 
brisk  fellow. 

I  asked  liim  what  his  business  was  with  me  :  he 
told  me  I  must  go  with  liini.  I  demanded  to  see  his 
M'arraut :  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  said  that 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  243 

was  his  warrant.  I  told  him,  though  that  was  not  a 
legal  warrant,  yet  I  would  not  dispute  it,  hut  was 
ready  to  bear  iujuries.  He  told  me  he  could  not  help 
it,  he  was  commanded  to  bring  me  forthwith  before  the 
deputy  lieutenants,  and  therefore  desired  me  to  order  a 
horse  to  be  got  ready,  because  he  was  in  haste.  I  let 
him  know  I  had  no  horse  of  my  own,  and  would  not 
meddle  with  any  of  my  father's  horses,  in  his  absence 
especially ;  and  that  therefore,  if  he  would  have  me 
with  him,  he  must  carry  me  as  he  could.  He  there- 
upon, talcing  my  sister  aside,  told  her  he  found  I  was 
restilute,  and  his  orders  were  peremptory  ;  wherefore  he 
desired  that  she  would  give  orders  for  a  horse  to  be  got 
ready  forme,  for  otherwise  he  should  be  forced  to  mount 
me  behind  a  trooper,  which  would  be  very  unsuitable 
for  me,  and  which  he  was  very  unwilling  to  do.  She 
thereupon  ordered  a  horse  to  be  got  ready,  upon  which, 
when  I  had  taken  leave  of  my  sisters,  I  mounted,  and 
went  off,  not  knowing  whither  he  intended  to  carry  me. 

He  had  orders,  it  seems,  to  take  some  others  also  in 
a  neighboring  village,  whose  names  he  had,  but  their 
houses  he  did  not  know.  Wherefore,  as  we  rode,  he 
asked  me  if  I  knew  such  and  such  men,  whom  he  named, 
and  where  they  lived  ;  and  when  he  understood  that  I 
knew  them,  he  desired  me  to  show  him  their  houses. 
"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  scorn  to  be  an  informer  against  my 
neighbors,  to  bring  them  into  trouble."  He  thereupon, 
riding  to  and  fro,  found  by  inquiry  most  of  their  houses; 
but,  as  it  happened,  found  none  of  them  at  home,  at 
which  I  was  glad. 

At  length  he  brought  me  to  the  house  of  one  called 
Esquire  Clark,  of  Weston,  by  Thame,  who,  being  after- 
wards kniglited,  was  called  Sir  Jolm  Clark;  a  jolly 
man,  too  much  addicted  to  drinking  in  soberer  times, 


244  THE   LIFE   OF 

but  was  now  gro\vn  more  licentious  tliat  way,  as  the 
times  did  now  more  favor  debauchery.  He  and  I  liad 
known  one  another  for  some  years,  thougli  not  very 
intimately,  having  met  sometimes  at  the  Lord  "Wen- 
man's  table.  Tliis  Clark  was  one  of  the  deputy-lieu- 
tenants, whom  I  was  brought  before.  And  he  had 
gotten  another  thither  to  join  with  him  in  tendering  m.e 
the  oaths,  whom  I  knew  only  by  name  and  character ; 
and  who  was  called  Esquire  Knowls,  of  Grays,  by 
Henley,  and  reputed  a  man  of  better  morals  than  the 
other. 

I  was  brought  into  the  hall,  and  kept  there  ;  and  as 
Quakers  were  not  so  common  then  as  they  now  are 
(and  indeed  even  yet,  the  more  is  the  pity,  they  are  not 
common  in  that  part  of  the  country),  I  was  made  a 
spectacle  and  gazing-stock  to  the  family,  and  by  divers 
I  was  diversely  set  upon.  Some  spake  to  me  courte- 
ously, with  api)earance  of  compassion ;  others  ruggedly, 
with  evid<'Ut  tokens  of  wrath  and  scorn.  But  though 
I  gave  them  the  hearing  of  what  they  said,  which  I 
could  not  well  avoid,  yet  I  said  little  to  them ;  but, 
keeping  iny  mind  as  well  retired  as  I  could,  I  breathed 
to  the  Lord  fjr  help  and  strength  from  him  to  bear  me 
up  and  carry  me  through  this  trial,  that  I  miglit  not 
sink  under  it,  or  be  prevailed  on  by  any  means,  fair  or 
foul,  to  do  anything  that  might  dishonor  or  displease 
my  God. 

At  length  came  forth  the  justices  themselves  (for 
so  they  were,  as  well  as  lieutenants),  and  after  they 
had  saluted  me,  they  discoursed  with  me  pretty  famil- 
iarly ;  and  though  Clark  would  sometimes  be  a  little 
jocular  and  waggish,  which  was  somewhat  natural  to 
him,  yet  Knowls  treated  me  very  civilly,  not  seeming 
to  take  any  otfeuce   at   my  not  standing  bare  before 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  245 

liiin.  And  when  a  yoinig  priest,  who,  as  I  understood, 
was  chaplain  to  the  family,  took  upon  him  pragmati- 
cally to  reprove  me  for  standing  with  my  hat  on  be- 
fore the  magistrates,  and  snatched  my  cap  from  off  my 
head,  Knowls,  in  a  pleasant  manner,  corrected  him, 
telling  him  he  mistook  himself,  in  taking  a  cap  for  a 
hat  (for  mine  was  a  mountier-cap),  and  hid  him  give 
it  me  again  ;  which  he,  though  unwillingly,  doing,  I 
forthwith  put  it  on  my  head  again,  and  thenceforward 
none  meddled  with  me  about  it. 

Then  they  began  to  examine  me,  putting  divers 
questions  to  me  relating  to  the  present  disturbances  in 
the  nation,  occasioned  by  the  late  foolish  insurrection 
of  those  frantic  Fifth-monarchy  men.  To  all  which 
I  readily  answered,  according  to  the  simplicity  of  my 
heart,  and  innoceney  of  my  hands ;  for  I  had  neitlier 
done  nor  thought  any  evil  against  the  government, 
liut  they  endeavored  to  affright  me  with  threats  of 
danger,  telling  me,  with  innuendoes,  that  for  all  my 
pretence  to  innoceney,  there  was  a  high  matter  against 
ine,  which,  if  I  would  stand  out,  would  be  brought 
forth,  and  that  under  my  own  hand.  I  knew  not  what 
they  meant  by  this ;  but  I  knew  my  innoceney,  and 
kept  to  it. 

At  length,  when  they  saw  T  regarded  not  their  threats 
in  general,  they  asked  me  if  I  knew  one  Thomas  Loe, 
and  had  written  of  late  to  him.  I  then  remembered 
my  letter,  which  till  then  I  had  not  thought  of,  and 
thereupon  frankly  told  them  that  I  did  l)oth  know 
Thomas  Loe,  and  had  lately  written  to  liim  ;  but  that 
as  I  knew  I  had  WTitten  no  huit,  so  I  did  not  fear  any 
danger  from  that  letter.  They  shocdi  their  heads,  and 
said,  "  It  was  dangerous  to  write  lettei's  to  appoint 
meetings  in  such  troublesome  times."     They  jiddcd, 


246  THE   LIFE   OF 

that  by  appointing  a  meeting,  ami  endeavoring  to 
gather  a  concourse  of  people  together,  in  such  a  junc- 
ture especially  as  this  was,  I  had  rendered  myself  a 
dangerous  person  ;  aud,  therefore,  they  could  do  no  less 
than  tender  me  the  oaths  of  allegiance  and  supremacy, 
which  therefore  they  required  ine  to  take. 

I  told  them,  if  I  could  take  an  oath  at  all,  I  would 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  for  I  owed  allegiance  to  the 
king.  But  1  durst  not  take  any  oath,  because  my  lord 
and  master,  Jesus  Christ,  had  commanded  me  not  to 
swear  at  all ;  and  if  I  brake  his  command,  I  should 
both  dishonor  and  displease  him. 

Hereupon  they  undertook  to  reason  with  me,  and 
used  many  words  to  persuade  me  that  that  command 
of  C'hrist  related  only  to  common  and  profane  swearing, 
not  to  swearing  before  a  magistrate.  I  heard  them, 
and  saw  the  weakness  of  their  arguings,  but  did  not 
return  them  any  answer ;  for  I  found  my  present  busi- 
ness was  not  to  dispute,  but  to  suffer  ;  and  that  it  was 
not  safe  for  me,  in  this  my  weak  and  childish  state 
especially,  to  enter  into  reasonings  with  sharp,  quick, 
witty,  and  learned  men,  lest  I  miglit  thereby  hurt  both 
the  cause  of  truth,  which  I  was  to  bear  witness  to,  and 
myself:  therefore  I  chose  rather  to  be  a  fool,  and  let 
them  triumph  over  me,  than  by  my  weakness  give 
them  a<lvantage  to  triumph  over  the  truth.  And  my 
spirit  being  closely  exercised  in  a  deep  travail  towards 
the  Lord,  I  earnestly  l)egged  of  him  that  he  would  be 
pleased  to  keep  me  faithful  to  tlie  testimony  he  had 
couimitted  to  me,  and  not  suffer  me  to  be  taken  in  any 
of  the  snares  which  the  enemy  laid  for  me.  And, 
blessed  be  his  holy  name,  he  heard  my  cries,  and 
preserved  nic  out  of  them. 

When  the  justices  saw  they  could  nf)t  bow  me  to 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  247 

tlioir  wills,  thpy  told  me  they  must  send  me  to  prison. 
I  told  them  I  was  contented  to  sutfer  whatsoever  the 
Lord  should  suffer  them  to  inflict  u})on  me.  Where- 
up(m  they  withdrew  into  the  parlor,  to  consult  to- 
gether what  to  do  with  me,  leaving  me  meanwhile  to 
be  gazed  on  in  the  hall.  After  a  pretty  long  stay  they 
came  forth  to  me  again  with  great  show  of  kindness, 
telling  me  they  were  very  unwilling  to  scud  me  to 
jail,  but  would  be  as  favorable  to  me  as  possibly 
they  could  ;  and  that  if  I  would  take  the  oaths,  they 
would  pass  by  all  the  otlier  matter  which  they  had 
against  me.  I  told  them  I  knew  they  could  not  justly 
have  anything  against  me ;  for  I  had  neither  done  nor 
intended  anything  against  the  government  or  against 
them.  And  as  to  the  oatlis,  I  assured  them  that  my 
refusing  them  was  merely  a  matter  of  conscience  to  me, 
and  that  I  durst  ncjt  take  any  oath  whatsoever,  if  it 
were  to  save  my  life. 

When  they  lieard  this  they  left  me  again,  and  went 
and  signed  a  mittimus  to  send  me  to  {)rison  at  Oxford, 
and  charged  one  of  the  troopers  that  brouglit  me 
thither,  who  was  one  of  the  newly  raised  militia  troop, 
to  convey  me  safe  to  Oxford.  But  before  we  departed 
they  called  the  trooper  aside,  and  gave  him  private 
instructions  what  he  should  do  with  me ;  which  I 
knew  n(jthing  of  till  I  came  thither,  but  expected  I 
should  go  directly  to  the  castle. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  we  took  horse,  and  we 
had  about  nine  or  ten  miles  to  ride,  the  weatlicr  thick 
and  cold  (for  it  was  about  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth 
montli),  and  I  luid  no  boots,  being  snatched  away 
from  home  on  a  sudden,  which  made  me  not  care  to 
ride  very  fast.  And  my  guard,  who  was  a  tradesman 
in  Thame,  having  confidence  in  me  that  I  would  not 


2-18  THE   LIFE   OF 

give  him  the  shp,  jogged  on  without  heeding  hoAV  I 
followed  liim. 

When  I  was  gone  about  a  mile  on  the  way,  I  over- 
took my  father's  man,  who,  without  my  knowledge, 
had  followed  me  at  a  distance  to  Weston,  and  waited 
there  abroad  in  the  stables,  till  he  understood  by  some 
of  the  servants  that  I  was  to  go  to  Oxford ;  and  then 
ran  before,  resolving  not  to  leave  me  till  he  saw  what 
they  w(.>uld  do  with  me.  I  would  have  had  him  re- 
turn home,  but  he  desired  me  not  to  send  him  back, 
but  let  him  run  on  till  I  came  to  Oxford.  I  con- 
sidered that  it  was  a  token  of  the  fellow's  affectionate 
kindness  to  me,  and  that  possibly  I  might  send  my 
horse  liome  by  him  :  and  thereupon  stopping  my  horse, 
I  bid  him,  if  lie  would  go  on,  get  up  liehind  me.  He 
modestly  refused,  telling  me  he  could  run  as  fast  as  I 
rode.  ]Jut  when  I  told  him  if  he  would  not  ride  he 
should  not  go  forward,  he,  rather  than  leave  me, 
leaped  up  behind  me,  and  on  we  went. 

But  he  was  not  willing  I  sht>uld  have  gone  at  all. 
He  had  a  great  cudgel  in  his  hand,  and  a  strong  arm 
to  use  it;  and,  being  a  stout  fellow,  he  had  a  great 
mind  to  fight  the  troop(ir,  and  rescue  me.  Where- 
fore he  desired  me  to  turn  my  horse  and  ride  off;  and 
if  the  trooper  offennl  to  pursue,  leave  him  to  deal  Avith 
him.  I  checked  him  sharply  for  that,  and  charged 
him  to  be  quiet,  and  not  think  hardly  of  the  poor 
trooper,  who  could  do  no  other  nor  less  than  lie  did ; 
and  who,  thougli  ho  liad  an  ill  journey  in  going  with 
me,  carried  himself  civilly  to  me.  I  told  him  also  that 
I  had  no  need  to  fly,  for  I  had  done  nothing  that  would 
bring  guilt  or  fear  upon  me  ;  neither  did  I  go  Avith  an 
ill  will;  and  this  ([uieted  the  man.  So  on  we  went; 
but  were  so  far  cast  behind  the  trooper,  that  we  had 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  249 

lost  Loth  sitfht  and  hoarinc  of  him,  and  I  was  fain  to 
nieud  my  pace  to  get  up  to  hiin  again. 

We  came  pretty  hite  into  Oxfu-d  on  the  seventh 
day  of  the  week,  which  was  the  market  day  ;  and 
contrary  to  my  expectation,  wliich  was  to  have  heen 
carried  to  the  castle,  my  trooper  stopped  in  the  High 
Street,  and,  calling  at  a  shop,  asked  for  the  master  of 
the  house;  who,  coming  to  the  door,  he  delivered  to 
him  the  mittimus,  and  with  it  a  letter  from  the  deputy- 
lieutenants,  or  one  of  them,  which,  when  he  had  read, 
he  asked  where  the  prisoner  was.  Whereupon  the 
soldier  pointing  to  me,  he  desired  me  to  alight  and 
come  in  ;  which  when  I  did,  he  received  me  civilly. 
The  trooper,  heing  discharged  of  his  prisoner,  marched 
back,  and  my  father's  man,  seeing  me  settled  in  better 
quarters  tluin  lie  expected,  mounted  my  horse,  and 
went  off  with  him. 

I  did  not  presently  understand  the  quality  of  my 
keeper,  but  I  found  him  a  genteel,  courteous  man, 
by  trade  a  linen-draper ;  and,  as  I  afterwards  under- 
stood, he  was  city-mai'shal,  had  a  command  in  the 
county  troop,  and  was  a  person  of  good  repute  in  the 
place  :  his  name  was Galloway. 

Whether  I  was  committed  to  him  out  of  regard  to 
my  father,  that  I  might  not  he  thrust  into  a  common 
jail,  or  out  of  politic  design,  to  keep  me  from  the  con- 
versation of  my  friends,  in  hopes  that  I  might  he  dra^-n 
to  abandon  this  profession  which  I  had  hut  lately  tahen 
up,  I  do  not  know.  But  this  I  know,  that  though  I 
wanted  no  civil  treatment,  nor  kind  accouunodations 
where  I  was,  yet  after  once  I  understood  that  many 
Friends  were  jtri.soiiers  in  the  castle,  and  amongst  the 
rest  Tliomas  Loe,  I  had  nmcli  rather  have  been 
amongst  them  there,  vi'ith  all  the  inconveniences  they 


250  THE   LIFE   OF 

underwent,  than  where  I  was,  with  the  hert  entertain- 
ment. But  this  was  my  present  lot,  and  therefore  with 
thi.s  I  endeavored  to  be  eontent. 

It  was  quickly  known  in  the  city  that  a  Quaker  was 
brought  in  prisoner  and  committed  to  the  marshal. 
Whereupon,  the  men  Friends  being  generally  prisoners 
already  in  the  castle,  some  of  the  women  Friends  came 
to  inquire  after  me,  and  to  visit  me;  as  Silas  Norton's 
wife,  and  Thomas  Loe's  wife,  who  were  sisters,  and 
another  woman  Friend,  who  lived  in  the  same  street 
where  I  was,  wiiose  husband  was  not  a  Quaker,  but 
kindly  affected  towards  them,  a  baker  by  trade,  and  his 
name,  as  I  remember, Ryland. 

Although  my  marshal-keeper  was  very  kind  to  me, 
and  aUowed  me  the  libeiiy  of  his  house,  yet  lie  was  not 
willing  I  should  be  seen  abroad  ;  the  rather,  perhaps, 
because  he  understood  I  had  l)een  pretty  well  known  in 
that  city.  Yet  once  the  friendly  baker  got  him  to  let 
me  step  over  to  his  house  ;  and  once,  and  Init  once,  I 
prevailed  with  him  to  let  me  visit  my  friends  in  the  cas- 
tle ;  but  it  was  with  these  conditions,  that  I  should  not 
go  forth  till  it  was  dark,  that  I  would  muffle  myself  up 
in  my  cloak,  and  that  I  wtaild  not  stay  out  late:  all 
which  I  punctually  observed. 

When  I  came  thither,  tliongh  there  were  many 
Friends  prisoners,  I  scarcely  knew  one  of  them  by  fice, 
except  Thomas  Loe,  whom  I  had  once  seen  at  Lsaiic 
Penington's;  nor  did  any  of  faem  know  me,  though 
they  had  generally  heard  that  sncli  a  young  man  as  I 
was  convinced  of  the  truth,  and  come  among  Friends. 
Our  salutation  to  eacli  other  was  very  grave  and 
solemn;  nor  did  we  entertain  one  another  M'illi  much 
talk,  or  with  common  discourses;  but  most  of  the  little 
time  I  had  with  them  was  spent  in  a  silent  retiredness 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  251 

of  spirit,  waiting  upon  the  Lord.  Yet,  before  we  parted, 
we  imparted  one  to  another  some  of  tlie  exercises  we 
had  gone  through ;  and  they  seeming  willhig  to  under- 
stand the  ground  and  manner  of  my  commitment,  I 
gave  a  brief  account  tliereof,  letting  Thomas  Loe  more 
particularly  know  that  I  had  directed  a  letter  to  him, 
which,  havinnr  fallen  into  the  hand  of  the  lord  lieu- 
tenant,  was,  so  far  as  I  could  learn,  the  inunediate 
cause  of  my  being  taken  up. 

Having  stayed  with  them  as  long  as  my  limited  time 
would  permit,  which  I  thought  was  but  very  short,  that 
I  might  keep  touch  with  my  keeper,  and  come  home 
in  due  time,  I  took  leave  of  my  friends  there,  and  with 
mutual  embraces  parting,  returned  to  my  (in  some  sense 
more  easy,  but  in  others  less  easy)  prison,  where,  after 
this,  I  stayed  not  kmg  before  I  was  brought  back  to 
my  father's  house.  For  after  my  father  was  come  home, 
who,  as  I  observed  before,  was  from  home  when  I  was 
taken,  he  applied  himself  to  those  justices  that  had 
committed  me,  and,  not  having  disobliged  them  when 
he  was  in  office,  easily  obtained  to  have  me  sent  home, 
which  between  him  and  them  was  thus  contrived. 

There  was  about  this  time  a  general  muster  and 
training  of  the  militia  forces  at  Oxford,  whither,  on 
that  occasion,  came  the  lord-lieutenant  and  deputy- 
lieutenants  of  the  county,  of  which  number  they  wlio 
committed  me  were  two.  When  they  had  been  awhile 
together  and  the  marshal  with  them,  he  stepped  sud- 
denly in,  and  in  haste  told  me  I  must  get  ready  quickly 
to  go  out  of  town,  and  that  a  soldier  would  come  by 
and  by  to  go  with  me.  This  said,  lie  hastened  to  them 
again,  not  giving  me  any  intimation  how  I  was  to  go, 
or  whither. 

I  needed  not  much  time  to  get  ready  in ;  but  I  was 


252  THE   LIFE   OF 

uneasy  in  thinking  what  the  Friends  of  the  town  would 
think  of  tins  my  sudden  and  private  removal ;  and  I 
feaied  lest  any  report  should  be  raised  that  I  had  pur- 
chased my  liberty  by  an  unfaithful  compliance.  Where- 
fore I  was  in  care  how  to  speak  with  some  Friend 
about  it ;  and  that  friendly  baker,  whose  wife  was  a 
Friend,  living  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  at  a  little 
distance,  I  went  out  at  a  back  door,  intending  to  step 
over  the  way  to  their  house,  and  return  immediately. 

It  so  fell  out  that  some  of  the  lieutenants,  of  whom 
Esquire  Clark,  who  committed  me,  was  one,  were  stand- 
ing in  the  balcony  at  a  great  inn  or  tavern,  just  over 
the  place  where  I  was  to  go  by ;  and  he  spying  me, 
called  out  to  the  soldiers,  who  stood  thick  in  the  street, 
to  stop  me.  They  being  generally  gentlemen's  ser- 
vants, and  many  of  them  knowing  me,  did  civilly  for- 
bear to  lay  hold  on  me,  but,  calling  modestly  after  me, 
said,  "Stay,  sir,  stay;  pray  come  back."  I  heard,  but 
was  not  willing  to  hear,  therefore  rather  mended  my 
pace,  that  I  might  get  within  the  door.  But  he  call- 
ing earnestly  aft(;r  me,  and  charging  them  to  stop  me, 
some  of  them  were  fain  to  run,  and,  laying  hold  on  me 
before  I  could  open  the  door,  brought  nie  back  to  my 
place  again.  Being  thus  disappointed,  I  took  a  pen 
and  iuk  and  wrote  a  few  lines,  wliich  I  sealed  up  and 
gave  to  the  ap])rentice  in  tlie  shop,  wht)  had  carried 
himself  handsomely  towards  me,  and  desired  him  to 
deliver  it  to  that  Friend  who  was  their  neighbor;  which 
he  promised  to  do. 

By  tliat  time  I  had  done  this,  came  the  soldier  that 
was  appointed  to  conduct  me  out  of  town.  I  knew  the 
man,  for  he  lived  witliiu  a  mile  of  me,  being  through 
poveily  reduced  to  keeji  an  alehouse  ;  but  he  had  lived 
in  better  fashion,  having  kept  an  inn  at  Thame,  and 


THOMxVS   ELLWOOD.  253 

by  that  means  knew  how  to  behave  himself  civilly, 
and  did  so  to  me.  He  t(_tld  me  he  was  ordered  to  wait 
on  me  to  Wheatley,  and  to  tarry  there  at  snch  an  inn 
until  Esquire  Clark  came  thither,  who  would  then  take 
me  home  with  him  in  his  coach.  Accordingly  to 
Wheatley  we  walked,  which  is  from  Oxford  some  four 
or  five  miles,  and  long  we  had  not  been  there  before 
Clark  and  a  great  company  of  rude  men  came  in. 
He  alighted,  and  stayed  awhile  to  eat  and  drink,  thougli 
he  came  but  from  Oxford,  and  invited  me  to  eat  with 
him;  but  T,  though  I  had  need  enough,  refused  it;  for 
indeed  their  conversation  was  a  burden  t(j  my  life,  and 
made  me  often  think  of  and  pity  good  Lot. 

He  seemed,  at  tliat  time,  to  be  in  a  sort  of  mixed 
temper,  between  pleasantness  and  sourness.  He  would 
sometimes  joke,  which  was  natural  to  him,  and  cast 
out  a  jesting  tlirt  at  me  ;  but  he  would  rail  maliciously 
against  the  Quakers.  "If,"  said  he  to  me,  "the  king 
would  authorize  me  to  do  it,  I  would  not  leave  a 
Quaker  alive  in  England,  except  you.  I  would  make 
no  more,"  added  he,  "  to  set  my  pistol  to  their  ears, 
and  shoot  them  through  the  head,  than  I  would  to  kill 
a  dog."  I  told  him  I  was  sorry  he  had  so  ill  an  opin- 
ion of  the  Quakers,  but  I  was  glad  he  had  no  cause  for 
it,  and  I  hoped  he  would  be  of  a  better  mind.  I  had 
in  my  hand  a  little  walking-stick,  with  a  head  on  it, 
which  he  connnended,  and  took  out  of  my  hand  to  look 
on  it ;  but  I  saw  his  intention  ^vas  to  search  it,  whether 
it  had  a  tuck  in  it,  for  he  tried  to  draw  the  head;  but 
when  he  found  it  was  fast,  he  returned  it  to  me. 

He  told  me  I  should  ride  witli  him  to  his  house  in 
his  coach,  wliicli  was  nijthing  pleasant  to  me  ;  for  I  had 
rather  have  gone  on  foot,  as  bad  as  tlie  ways  were,  that 
I  might  have  been  out  of  his  company.     Wherefore  I 


254  THE   LIFE   OF 

took  no  notice  of  any  kindness  in  the  offer,  but  only 
answered  I  was  at  his  disposal,  not  mine  own.  But 
when  we  were  ready  to  go,  tlie  marshal  came  to  me, 
and  told  me  if  I  pleased  I  sh<)uld  ride  his  horse,  and  ho 
would  go  in  the  coach  with  Mr.  Clark.  I  was  glad  of 
the  ofler,  and  only  told  him  he  should  take  out  his 
pistols  then,  for  I  would  not  ride  with  them.  He  took 
them  out,  and  laid  them  in  the  coach  by  him,  and 
away  we  went. 

It  was  a  very  fine  beast  that  I  was  set  on,  by  much 
the  best  in  the  company.  Bnt  though  she  was  very 
tall,  yet,  the  ways  being  very  foul,  I  found  it  needful, 
as  soon  as  I  was  out  of  town,  to  alight  and  take  up 
the  stirrups.  Meanwhile,  they  driving  hard  on,  I  was 
so  far  iK'hind,  that  being  at  length  missed  by  the  com- 
pany, a  soldier  was  sent  back  to  look  after  me.  As 
soon  as  I  had  fitted  my  stiiTups,  and  Avas  remounted, 
I  gave  the  rein  to  my  mare,  which,  beiug  courageous 
and  nimble,  and  impatient  of  delay,  nuide  great  speed 
to  recover  the  company.  And  in  a  narrow  passage 
the  soldier  (who  was  iny  barber  that  had  fetched  me 
from  home)  and  I  met  upon  so  brisk  a  galloj)  that  we 
had  enougli  to  do  on  either  side  to  take  up  our  horses 
and  avoid  a  brush. 

When  we  were  come  to  AVeston,  where  Esquire 
Clark  lived,  he  took  the  marshal,  and  some  others 
Avith  him,  into  the  parlor ;  but  I  was  left  in  the  hall, 
to  be  exposed  a  second  time  for  the  family  to  gaze  on. 
At  length  himself  came  out  to  me,  leading  in  his  hand 
a  beloved  daughter  of  liio,  a  young  woman  of  abou;; 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who  wanted  nothing  to  make 
her  comely  but  gravity.  An  airy  piece  she  was,  and 
very  merry  she  made  herself  at  me.  After  they  had 
made  themselves  as  much  sport  wi;h  me  as  they  would, 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  255 

the  marshal  took  his  leave  of  them,  and  mounting  me 
on  a  horse  of  Ckirk's,  had  me  home  to  my  father's  that 
night. 

Next  morning,  hefore  the  murslial  went  away,  my 
father  and  he  consulted  together  how  to  entangle  me. 
I  felt  there  were  snares  laid,  hut  1  did  not  know  in 
what  manner  or  to  what  end  till  the  marshal  was 
ready  to  go.  And  then,  coming  where  I  was  to  take 
his  leave  of  me,  he  desired  me  to  take  notice  that 
although  he  had  hrought  me  home  to  my  father's 
liouse  again,  yet  I  was  not  discharged  from  my  im- 
prisonment, but  was  his  prisoner  still ;  and  that  he  had 
committed  me  to  the  care  of  my  father,  to  see  meforth- 
comine  whenever  I  should  he  called  f  tr.  And  therefore 
he  expected  I  should  in  all  things  observe  my  father's 
orders,  and  not  g<j  out  at  anytime  from  the  house  with- 
out his  leave. 

Now  I  plainly  saw  the  snare,  and  to  what  end  it  was 
laid  :  and  I  asked  him  if  this  device  was  not  contrived 
to  keep  me  from  going  to  meetings ;  he  said,  I  must 
not  go  to  meetings.  Whereujion  I  desired  him  to  take 
notice  that  I  would  not  own  myself  a  prisoner  to  any 
man  while  I  continued  here.  That  if  he  had  power 
to  detain  me  prisoner,  he  might  take  me  back  again 
with  him  if  he  would,  and  I  should  not  refuse  to  go 
with  him.  But  I  hid  liim  assure  himself,  that  while 
I  was  at  home,  I  would  take  my  liberty  both  to  go  to 
meetings,  and  to  visit  friends.  He  smiled  and  said, 
if  I  would  be  resolute  he  could  not  help  it;  and  so 
took  his  leave  of  me.  By  this  I  perceived  that  the 
phjt  was  of  my  fathc^r's  laying,  to  bring  me  under  su(di 
an  engagement  as  should  tie  me  from  going  to  meet- 
ings ;  and  thereupon  T  expected  I  should  have  a  new 
exercise  from  my  father. 


256  THE   LIFE   OF 

It  was  the  constant  manner  of  my  father  to  have  r.ll 
the  keys  of  the  outer  doors  of  his  house  (which  were 
four,  and  those  huked  upon  a  chain)  brought  up  into 
his  chamber  every  night,  and  fetched  out  from  tliencc 
in  the  morning ;  so  tliat  none  could  come  in  or  go  out 
in  tlie  night  without  his  knowledge.  I,  knowing  this, 
suspected  that  if  I  got  not  out  before  my  father  came 
down,  1  should  be  stop^jed  from  going  out  at  all  that 
day.  Wherefore  the  passage  fi'om  my  chamber  lying 
by  his  chamber  door,  I  went  down  softly  without  my 
shoes,  and  as  soon  as  the  maid  had  opened  the  door,  I 
went  out,  thougli  too  early,  and  walked  towards  the 
meeting  at  Meadle,  four  long  miles  off. 

I  expected  to  be  talked  with  about  it  when  I  came 
home,  but  heard  nothing  of  it,  my  father  resolving  to 
watch  me  better  next  time.  This  I  was  awai-e  of;  and 
therefore  on  the  next  first-day  I  got  up  early,  went 
down  softly,  and  hid  myself  in  a  back  room  before  the 
maid  was  stin-ing.  When  she  was  up,  she  went  into 
my  father's  chamber  for  the  keys ;  but  he  bid  her  leave 
them  till  he  was  up,  and  he  would  bring  them  down 
himself;  which  he  did,  and  tarried  in  the  kitchen, 
tlirough  which  he  expected  1  would  go.  The  manner 
was,  that  when  the  common  doors  were  opened,  the 
keys  were  hung  upon  a  pin  in  the  hall.  Wliile  there- 
fore my  father  stayed  in  tlie  kitchen  expecting  my 
conung,  I,  stepping  gently  out  of  the  room  where  I 
was,  reached  tlie  keys,  and,  opening  another  door  not 
often  used,  slii)])ed  out,  and  so  got  away. 

I  thought  1  had  gone  off  undiscovered  :  but  whether 
my  father  saw  me  through  a  window,  or  by  what  means 
he  knew  of  my  going,  I  know  not;  but  1  had  gone  but 
a  little  way  before  1  saw  him  coming  after  me.  The 
sight  of  him  put  me  to  a  stand  in  my  mind  whether  I 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD,  257 

should  go  on  or  stop.  Hud  it  been  in  any  (itlier  case 
than  that  of  going  to  a  meeting,  I  conld  not  in  any 
wise  have  gone  a  step  farther.  But  I  considered  that 
the  intent  of  my  father's  endeavoring  to  stop  me  was 
to  hinder  me  from  obeying  the  call  of  my  Heavenly 
Father,  and  to  stop  me  from  going  to  worship  him  in 
the  assembly  of  his  ]K'ople  ;  upon  this  I  found  it  my 
duty  to  go  on,  and  observing  that  my  father  gained 
ground  upon  me,  I  somewhat  mended  my  pace.  This 
he,  observing,  mended  his  pace  also,  and  at  length  ran. 
Whereupon  I  ran  also,  and  a  fair  course  we  had 
through  a  large  meadow  of  his,  which  lay  behind  his 
house,  and  out  of  sight  of  the  town.  He  was  not,  I 
suppose,  then  above  fifty  years  of  age,  and  being  light 
of  body  and  nimble  of  foot,  he  held  me  to  it  for  a 
Avliile.  But  afterwards  slackening  his  pace  to  take 
breath,  and  observing  that  I  had  gotten  ground  of  him, 
he  turned  l>ack  and  went  home  ;  and,  as  T  afterwards 
understood,  telling  my  sisters  how  I  had  served  him,  he 
said:  "  Nay,  if  he  will  take  so  much  pains  to  go,  let 
him  go  if  he  will."  And  from  that  time  forward  he 
never  attempted  to  stop  me,  but  left  me  to  my  liberty, 
to  go  when  and  whither  I  would  ;  yet  kept  me  at  the 
usual  distance,  avoiding  the  sight  of  me  as  much  as  he 
could,  as  not  able  to  bear  the  sight  of  my  hat  on,  nor 
willing  to  contend  with  me  again  about  it. 

Nor  was  it  long  after  this  befon;  I  was  left  not  only 
to  myself,  but  in  a  manner  by  myself.  For  the  time 
appointed  for  the  coronation  of  the  king  (which  was 
the  23d  of  the  fourth  month,  called  April)  drawing 
on,  my  father,  taking  my  two  sisters  with  him,  went 
up  to  London  some  time  before,  that  tliey  migjit  1)e 
there  in  readiness,  and  put  themselves  into  a  condi- 
tion to  see  that  so  great  a  solemnity ;  leaving  nobody 


258  THE   LIFE   OF 

in  the  house  hut  myself  and  a  couple  of  servants. 
And  though  this  was  intended  only  for  a  visit  on  that 
occasion,  yet  it  proved  the  hreaking  of  the  family  ;  fur 
he  hestowed  hotii  his  daughters  there  in  marriage,  and 
took  lodgings  for  himself,  so  that  afterwards  they  never 
returned  to  settle  at  Crowell. 

Being  now  at  liherty,  I  walked  over  to  Aylesbury, 
with  some  other  Friends,  to  visit  my  dear  friend  Isaac 
Penington,  who  was  still  a  prisoner  there.  With  him 
I  found  dear  John  Whitehead,  and  between  sixty  and 
seventy  more,  being  welluigh  all  the  men  Friends 
that  were  then  in  the  county  of  Bucks ;  many  of 
them  were  taken  out  of  their  houses  by  armed  men, 
and  sent  to  prison,  as  I  had  been,  for  refusing  to  swear. 
Most  of  these  were  thrust  into  an  old  room  behind  the 
jail,  which  had  anciently  been  a  malt-house,  but  was 
now  decayed,  that  it  was  scarce  fit  for  a  dog-house. 
And  so  open  it  lay,  that  the  priscniers  might  have  gone 
out  at  pleasure.  But  these  were  purposely  put  there, 
in  confidence  that  they  would  not  go  out,  that  there 
might  be  room  in  the  prison  for  others,  of  other  pro- 
fessions and  names,  whom  the  jailer  did  not  trust 
there. 

W^hile  this  imprisonment  lasted,  which  was  for  some 
months,  I  went  afterwards  thither  sometimes  to  visit 
my  suffering  brethren  ;  and  because  it  was  a  pretty 
long  way  (some  eight  or  nine  miles,  too  far  to  be 
•  walked  forward  and  backward  in  one  day),  I  some- 
times stayed  a  day  or  two  there,  and  lay  in  the  malt- 
house  among  my  friends,  with  whom  I  delighted  to 
be. 

After  this  imprisonment  was  over,  I  went  sometimes 
to  Isaac  PeningtDii's  house  at  Chalfont,  to  visit  that 
family,  and  the  Friends  thereabouts.     There  was  then 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  259 

a  meeting,  for  the  most  part,  twice  a  week  in  liis 
house ;  but  one  first-day  in  four  there  was  a  more 
general  meeting,  which  was  thence  called  the  Monthly 
Meeting,  to  wliich  resorted  most  of  the  Friends  of 
other  adjacent  meetings  ;  and  to  that  I  usually  went, 
and  sometimes  made  some  stay  there. 

Here  I  became  acquainted  with  a  Friend,  of  London, 
whose  name  was  Richard  Greenaway,  by  trade  a  tailor, 
a  very  honest  man,  and  one  who  had  received  a  gift  for 
the  ministry.  He,  having  been  formerly  in  other  pro- 
fessions of  religion,  had  then  l)een  acquainted  with  one 
John  Ovy,  of  Watlington,  in  Oxfordshire,  a  man  of 
some  note  among  the  professors  there;  and  under- 
standing, upon  inquiry,  that  I  knew  him,  he  had  some 
discourse  with  me  about  him.  The  result  whereof 
was,  that  he,  having  an  intention  then  shortly  to  visit 
some  meetings  of  Friends  in  this  county,  and  the  ad- 
jf)ining  parts  of  Oxfordshire  and  Berksliire,  invited  me 
to  meet  him,  upon  notice  given,  and  to  bear  him  com- 
pany in  that  j(jurney ;  and  in  the  way  bring  him  to 
John  Ovy's  house,  with  whom  I  was  well  acquainted, 
which  T  did. 

This  visit  gave  John  Ovy  an  opportunity  to  inquire 
of  me  after  Isaac  Penington,  whose  writings  (those 
which  he  had  written  before  he  came  among  Friends) 
he  had  read,  and  had  a  great  esteem  of;  and  he  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see  him,  that  he  might  have  some 
discourse  with  him,  if  he  knew  how.  Whereupon  I 
told  him,  that  if  he  would  take  tlie  pains  to  go  to  liis 
house,  I  would  bear  him  company  tliither,  introduce 
him,  and  engage  he  should  have  a  kind  reception. 
This  pleased  hiui  much ;  and  he  embracing  the  otfer, 
I  undertook  to  give  him  notice  of  a  suitabh3  time, 
wliich  (after  I  had  gone  this  little  journey  with  my 


2G0  THE    LIFE    OF 

friend   Eichard  Grrenaway,  and  was  returned)  I  did, 
making  choice  of  the  Monthly  Meeting  t(j  go  to. 

We  met  by  appointment  at  Stokeu  Church,  with 
our  staves  in  our  hands,  like  a  couple  of  pilgrims,  in- 
tending to  walk  on  foot,  and,  having  taken  some  re- 
freshment and  rest  at  Wyc<:)mbe,  went  on  cheerfully 
in  the  afternoon,  entertaining  each  other  with  grave 
and  religious  discourse,  which  made  the  walk  the 
easier;  and  so  reached  thither  in  good  time,  on  the 
seventh  day  of  the  week. 

My  friends  received  me  in  affectionate  kindness,  and 
my  companion  with  courteous  civility.  The  evening 
was  spent  in  common  but  grave  conversation ;  for  it 
was  not  a  proper  season  for  })rivate  discourse,  both 
as  we  were  somewhat  weary  with  our  walk,  and  there 
were  other  comjianies  oi  Friends  come  into  the  family, 
to  be  at  the  meeting  next  day.  But  in  the  morning  I 
took  John  Ovy  into  a  private  walk,  in  a  pleasant 
grove  near  the  house,  whither  Isaac  Penington  came 
to  us ;  and  there,  in  discourse,  both  answered  all  his 
questions,  objections,  and  doubts,  and  opened  to  him 
the  principles  of  truth,  to  both  his  admii-ation  and 
present  satisfaction.  Which  done,  we  went  in  to  take 
some  refreshment  before  the  meeting  began. 

Of  those  friends  who  were  come  over  night,  in  or- 
der to  be  at  the  meeting,  there  were  Isaac's  brother, 
William  Penington,  a  merchant  of  London,  and  with 
him  a  Friend  whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  a  grocer, 
of  Colchester,  in  Essex  ;  and  there  was  also  our  friend 
George  Whitehead,  whom  I  had  not,  that  I  remem- 
ber, seen  before. 

The  nation  liad  been  in  a  ferment  ever  since  that 
mad  action  of  the  frantic  Fifth-monarchy  men,  and 
was  not  yet  settled ;  but  storms,  like  thunder-showers, 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  2G1 

flew  here  and  there  by  coast,  so  that  we  could  not 
promise  ourselves  any  safety  or  quiet  in  our  meetings. 
And  though  they  had  escaped  disturl)ance  for  st)me 
little  time  before,  yet  so  it  fell  f)ut,  that  a  party  of 
horse  were  appointed  to  come  and  break  uji  the  meet- 
ing that  day,  though  we  knew  nothing  of  it  till  we 
heard  and  saw  them. 

The  meeting  was  scarcely  fully  gathered  when  they 
came.  But  we  that  were  in  the  family,  and  many 
others,  were  settled  in  it  in  great  peace  and  stillness, 
when  on  a  sudden  the  prancing  of  the  horses  gave 
notice  that  a  disturbance  was  at  hand.  We  all  sat  still 
in  our  places,  except  my  companion  John  Ovy,  who  sat 
next  to  me.  But  he  being  of  a  profession  that  ap- 
proved Peter's  advice  to  his  Lord,  "  to  save  himself," 
soon  took  the  alarm,  and  with  tlie  nimbleness  of  a 
stripling,  cutting  a  caper  over  the  form  that  stood  be- 
fore him,  ran  quickly  out  at  a  private  door  which  he 
had  before  observed,  which  led  through  the  parlor  into 
the  gardens,  and  from  thence  into  an  orchard,  Avhere 
he  hid  liimself  in  a  place  so  obscure,  and  withal  so  con- 
venient for  his  intelligence  by  observation  of  what 
passed,  that  any  one  of  the  family  could  scarce  have 
found  a  likelier. 

By  that  time  he  was  got  into  a  bun-ow,  came  the 
soldiers  in,  being  a  party  of  the  county  troop,  com- 
manded by  Matthew  Archdale,  of  Wycombe.  He 
behaved  himself  civilly,  and  said  he  was  commanded 
to  break  up  the  meeting,  and  can-y  the  men  befjre  a 
justice  of  the  peace ;  but  he  said  he  would  not  take 
all ;  and  thereupon  began  to  ])ick  and  choose,  chiefly 
as  his  eye  guided  him,  for  I  suppose  he  knew  very  few. 
Ho  took  Isaac  Peningtou  and  his  broflier,  George 
Whitehead,  and  the  Friend  of  Colchester,  and  me,  with 


262  THE   LIFE   OF 

three  or  four  more  of  the  county,  who  belonged  to  that 
meeting.  He  was  not  fond  of  the  work,  and  that  made 
him  take  no  more.  But  he  must  take  some,  he  said, 
and  bid  us  provide  to  go  with  him  before  Sir  William 
Boyer,  of  Denham,  who  was  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
Isaac  Penington,  being  but  weakly,  rode,  but  the  rest 
of  us  walked  thither,  it  being  about  four  miles. 

When  we  came  there,  the  justice  carried  himself 
civilly  to  us  all,  courteously  to  Isaac  Penington,  as 
being  a  gentleman  of  his  neighborhood  ;  and  there  was 
nothing  charged  against  us,  but  that  we  were  met 
together  without  word  or  deed.  Yet  this  being  contrary 
to  a  late  proclamation,  given  forth  upon  the  rising  of 
the  Fifth-monarchy  men,  whereby  all  dissenters'  meet- 
ings were  forliidden,  the  justice  could  do  no  less  than 
take  notice  of  us.  Wherefore  he  examined  all  of  us 
whom  he  did  not  personally  know,  asking  our  names, 
and  the  places  of  our  respective  habitations.  But  when 
he  had  them,  and  considered  from  what  distant  parts 
of  the  nation  we  came,  he  was  amazed.  For  George 
Whitehead  was  of  Westmoreland,  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land ;  the  grocer  was  of  Essex  ;  I  was  of  Oxfordshire; 
and  William  Penington  was  of  London.  Hereupon 
he  told  us  that  our  case  looked  ill,  and  he  was  sorry 
for  it.  "  For  how,"  said  he,  "  can  it  be  imagined  that 
so  many  could  jump  altogether  at  one  time  and  place, 
from  such  remote  quarters  and  parts  of  the  kingdom, 
if  it  was  not  by  combination  and  appointment  f  " 

He  was  answered,  that  we  were  so  far  from  coming 
thither  by  agreement  or  appointment,  tliat  none  of  us 
knew  of  the  others'  comhig;  and,  for  the  most  of  us, 
we  had  never  seen  one  another  l)ef()r(^ ;  and  that  there- 
fore he  might  impute  it  to  chance,  or,  if  he  pleased,  to 
Providence. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  263 

He  urged  upon  us,  that  an  insurrection  had  been 
lately  made  by  armed  men,  who  pretended  to  be  more 
religious  than  others  ;  that  that  insurrection  had  been 
plotted  and  conti-ived  in  tlieir  meeting-house,  where 
they  assembled  under  color  of  worshipping  God;  that 
in  their  meeting-house  they  hid  their  arms,  and  armed 
themselves,  and  out  of  their  meeting-house  issued  forth 
in  arms,  and  liillcd  many ;  so  that  the  government 
could  not  be  safe,  unless  such  meetings  were  suppressed. 
We  replied,  we  hoped  he  would  distinguisli  and  malce 
a  difference  between  tlie  guilty  and  the  innocent,  and 
between  those  who  were  principled  for  fighting  and 
those  who  were  principled  against  it,  which  we  were, 
and  had  been  always  known  to  be  so.  That  our  meet- 
ings were  public,  our  doors  standing  open  to  all  comers, 
of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  persuasions;  men,  women,  and 
childi-en,  and  those  that  were  not  of  our  religion,  as 
well  as  those  that  were  ;  and  that  it  was  next  to  mad- 
ness for  people  to  plot  in  such  meetings. 

He  told  us  we  must  find  sureties  for  our  good  be- 
havior, and  to  answer  our  contempt  of  the  king's 
proclamation  at  the  next  general  (piarter  sessions  ;  or 
else  he  must  commit  us.  We  told  him,  that  knowing 
our  innocency,  and  that  we  had  not  misbehaved  our- 
selves, nor  did  meet  in  contempt  of  the  king's  author- 
ity, but  purely  in  obedience  to  the  Lord's  requirings  to 
worship  him,  which  we  held  ourselves  in  duty  bound 
to  do,  we  could  not  consent  to  be  bound,  for  that  would 
imply  guilt,  which  we  were  free  from.  "  Then,"  said 
he,  '' I  must  commit  you";  and  ordered  his  clerk  to 
make  a  mittimus.  And  divers  mittimuses  were  made, 
but  none  of  them  would  hold;  for  still,  Avhen  they 
came  to  be  read,  we  foimd  sucli  flaws  in  them  as  made 
him  throw  them  aside  and  write  more. 


264  THE   LIFE   OF 

He  had  his  eye  often  upon  me,  for  I  was  a  young 
man,  and  had  at  that  time  a  hlack  suit  on.  At  length 
he  hid  me  follow  him,  and  went  into  a  jji-ivate  room, 
and  shut  the  door  upon  me.  I  knew  not  what  he 
meant  hy  this ;  hut  I  cried  in  spirit  to  the  Lord,  that 
he  would  he  pleased  to  he  a  mouth  and  wisdom  to  me, 
and  keep  me  from  heing  entangled  in  any  snare.  He 
asked  me  many  questions  conceniing  my  hirth,  my 
education,  my  acquaintance  in  Oxfordshire,  particu- 
larly what  men  of  note  I  know  there.  To  all  which  I 
gave  him  hri(,'f,  hut  plain  and  true  answers,  naming 
several  families  o(  the  hest  rank  in  that  part  of  the 
country  where  I  dwelt.  He  asked  me  how  long  I  had 
been  of  this  way,  and  how  I  came  to  he  of  it.  Which 
when  I  had  given  him  some  account  of,  he  began  to 
persuade  me  to  leave  it  and  return  to  the  right  way, 
the  church,  as  he  called  it.  I  desired  him  to  spare  his 
pains  in  that  respect,  and  forbear  any  discourse  of  that 
kind,  for  that  I  was  fully  satisfied  the  way  I  was  in 
was  the  right  way,  and  hoped  the  Lord  would  so  pre- 
serve me  in  it  that  nothing  should  be  able  to  draw  or 
drive  me  out  of  it.  He  seemed  not  pleased  with  that, 
and  thereupon  went  out  to  the  rest  of  the  company, 
and  I  followed  him,  glad  in  my  heart  that  I  had  es- 
caped so  well,  and  praising  God  f  )r  my  deliverance. 

When  he  had  taken  his  seat  again  at  the  upper  end 
of  a  fair  hall,  he  told  us  he  was  not  willing  to  take  the 
utmost  rigor  of  the  law  against  us,  but  would  be  as 
favorable  to  us  as  he  could.  And  therefore  he  would 
discharge,  he  said,  Mr.  Penington  himself,  because  he 
was  at  home  in  his  ovni  house.  And  he  would  discharge 
Mr.  Penington  of  London,  because  he  came  but  as  a 
relation  to  visit  his  brother.  And  he  would  discharge 
the  grocer  of  Colchester,  because  he  came  to  bear  JVIr. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  265 

Peniiiijton  of  London  company,  and  to  be  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Isaac  Peuiugtou,  whom  he  had  nevei'  seen 
before.  And  as  for  those  others  of  us  who  were  of  this 
county,  he  would  discharge  them,  for  the  present  at 
least,  because  they  being  his  neighbors,  he  could  send 
for  them  when  he  would.  "  But  as  for  you,"  said  he 
to  George  Whitehead  and  me,  "  I  can  see  no  business 
you  had  there,  and  therefore  I  intend  to  hold  you  to  it, 
either  to  give  bail,  or  go  to  jail.'' 

We  told  him  we  could  not  give  bail.  "  Then,"  said 
he,  ''  you  must  go  to  jail "  ;  and  thereupon  he  began 
to  write  our  mitdnuis,  which  puzzled  him  again.  For 
he  had  discharged  so  many  that  he  was  at  a  loss  what 
to  lay  as  the  ground  of  our  commitment,  whose  case 
differed  nothing  in  reality  from  theirs  whom  he  had 
discharged.  At  length,  having  made  divers  draughts, 
which  still  George  Whitehead  showed  him  the  defects 
of,  he  seemed  to  be  weary  of  us  ;  and  rising  up  said 
unto  us  :  ''I  consider  that  it  is  grown  late  in  the  day, 
so  that  the  officer  cannot  carry  you  to  Aylesbury  to- 
night, and  I  suppose  you  will  be  willing  to  go  back 
with  Mr.  Peningtt)n  ;  therefore,  if  you  will  be  forth- 
coming at  his  house  to-morrow  morning,  I  will  dismiss 
you  for  the  present,  and  you  shall  hear  from  me  again 
to-morrow."  We  told  him  we  did  intend,  if  he  did  not 
otherwise  dispose  of  us,  to  spend  that  night  with  our 
friend  Isaac  Penington,  and  wouhl,  if  the  Lord  gave  us 
leave,  be  there  in  the  morning,  ready  to  answer  his 
inquirings.  Whereupon  he  dismissed  us  all,  willing, 
as  we  thought,  to  be  rid  of  us  ;  for  he  seemed  not  to 
be  of  an  ill-temper,  nor  desirous  to  put  us  to  trouble  if 
he  could  help  it. 

Back  then  we  went  to  Isaac  Penington's.  But 
when   we   were   come   thither,   0   the  work  we   had 


266  THE   LIFE   OF 

with  poor  John  Ovy !  He  was  so  dejected  in  mind, 
BO  covei'ed  with  sliame  and  confusion  of  face  for  his 
cowardliness,  Ihat  we  had  enough  to  do  to  pacify  him 
toM-ards  liimself.  The  place  he  had  ftjund  out  to  shel- 
ter himself  in  was  so  commodiously  contrived  that 
undiscovered  he  could  discern  when  the  soldiers  went 
off  with  us,  and  understand  when  the  hustle  was  over 
and  the  coast  clear.  "Whereupon  he  adventured  to 
peep  out  of  his  hole,  and  in  a  while  drew  near  hy  de- 
grees to  the  house  again  ;  and  finding  all  things  quiet 
and  still,  he  adventured  to  step  within  the  doors,  and 
found  the  Friends  who  were  left  hehind  peaceahly  set- 
tled in  the  meeting  again. 

The  sight  of  this  smote  him,  and  made  him  sit  down 
among  them.  And  after  the  meeting  was  ended,  and 
the  Friends  departed  to  their  several  homes,  addressing 
himself  to  Mary  Penington,  as  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  he  could  not  enough  magnify  the  hravery  and 
courage  of  the  Friends,  nor  sufficit'utly  dehase  himself. 
He  told  how  long  he  had  heen  a  professor,  what 
pains  he  had  taken,  what  hazards  he  had  run,  in  his 
youthful  days,  to  get  to  meetings  ;  how,  when  the 
ways  were  forelaid,  and  passages  stopped,  he  swam 
through  rivers  to  reach  a  meeting:  "and  now,"  said 
he,  "■  that  I  am  grown  old  in  the  profession  of  religion, 
and  have  long  heen  an  instructor  and  encourager  of 
others,  that  I  should  thus  shamefully  fall  short  my- 
self is  matter  of  shame  and  sorrow  to  me."  Thus  he 
hewailcd  himself  to  her.  And  when  we  came  hack, 
he  renewed  Jus  complaints  of  himself  to  us,  with  high 
aggravations  of  his  own  cowardice  ;  which  gave  occa- 
sion to  some  of  the  friends  tenderly  to  represent  to  him 
the  difference  between  profession  and  possession,  form 
and  power. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  267 

He  was  glad,  he  said,  on  our  behalf,  that  we  came 
off  so  well,  and  escaped  imprisonment.  But  when  he 
understood  that  George  Whitehead  and  I  were  liable 
to  an  after-reckoning  next  morning,  he  was  troubled, 
and  wished  the  uKjrning  was  come  and  gone,  that  we 
might  be  gone  with  it. 

We  spent  the  evening  in  grave  conversation,  and 
in  religious  discourses,  attributing  the  deliverance  we 
hitherto  had  to  the  Lord.  And  tlie  next  morning, 
when  we  were  up  and  had  eaten,  we  tarried  some 
time  to  see  what  the  justice  would  do  further  with  us, 
and  to  discharge  our  agreement  to  him  ;  the  rest  of 
the  Friends,  who  were  before  fully  discharged,  tarry- 
ing also  with  us  to  see  the  event.  And  when  we  had 
stayed  so  long  that  on  all  hands  it  was  concluded  we 
might  safely  go,  George  Whitehead  and  I  left  a  few 
words  in  writing  to  be  sent  to  the  justice,  if  he  sent 
after  us,  importing  that  we  had  tarried  till  such  an 
hour,  and,  not  hearing  from  him,  did  now  hold  our- 
selves free  to  depart  ;  yet,  so  as  that  if  he  shouLl  have 
occasion  to  send  for  us  again,  upon  notice  thereof  we 
would  return. 

This  done,  we  took  our  leave  of  the  family,  and  one 
of  another ;  they  who  were  for  London  taking  horse, 
and  I  and  my  companion,  setting  forth  on  foot  for  Ox- 
fordshire, went  to  Wycombe,  where  we  made  a  short 
stay  to  rest  and  refresh  ourselves,  and  from  thence 
reached  our  respective  homes  that  night. 

After  I  had  spent  some  time  at  home,  where,  as  I 
liad  no  restraint,  so,  my  sisters  being  gon.e,  I  had  now 
no  society,  I  walked  up  to  Chalfont  again  and  spent  a 
few  days  witli  my  friends  there. 

As  soon  as  I  came  in  1  was  told  that  my  father  had 
been  there  that  day  to  see  Isaac  Penington  and  his 


268  THE   LIFE   OF 

wife ;  but  they  being  abroad  at  a  meeting,  be  returned 
to  his  inn  in  the  town,  where  he  intended  to  lodge  that 
night.  After  supper  Mary  Penington  told  nie  she  had 
a  mind  to  go  and  see  him  at  his  inn  (the  Avomau  of 
the  house  being  a  friend  of  ours),  and  I  went  with 
her.  He  seemed  somewhat  surprised  to  see  me  there, 
because  he  thought  I  had  been  at  home  at  his  house ; 
but  he  took  no  notice  of  my  hat,  at  least  sliowed  no 
offence  at  it ;  for,  as  I  afterwards  understood,  he  had 
now  an  intention  to  sell  his  estate,  and  thought  he 
should  need  my  ccmcurrence  therein,  which  made  him 
now  hold  it  necessary  to  admit  me  again  into  some  de- 
gree of  favcn-.  After  we  had  tarried  some  little  time 
with  him,  she  rising  up  to  be  gone,  he  waited  on  her 
home,  and,  having  spent  about  an  hour  with  us  in  the 
family,  I  waited  on  him  back  to  his  inn.  On  the  way 
he  invited  me  to  come  up  to  Ijondon  to  see  my  sisters, 
the  younger  of  whom  was  then  newly  married;  and 
directed  me  where  to  find  them,  and  also  gave  me 
money  to  defray  my  charges.  Accordingly  I  went ;  yet 
stayed  not  long  there,  but  returned  to  my  friend  Isaac 
Penington's,  where  I  made  a  little  stay,  and  from  thence 
went  back  to  Cr<_twell. 

When  I  was  ready  to  set  fortb,  my  friend  Isaac  Pen- 
ington was  so  kind  as  to  send  a  servant,  with  a  couple 
of  horses,  to  carry  me  as  far  as  I  thought  fit  to  ride, 
and  to  bring  the  horses  back.  I,  intending  to  go  no 
farther  that  day  than  to  Wycombe,  rode  no  farther  than 
to  Beaconsfield  town's  end,  having  then  but  five  miles  to 
walk.  But  .here  a  new  exercise  befell  me,  the  manner 
of  which  was  thus  :  — 

Before  I  had  walked  to  the  middle  of  the  icnxn,  I 
was  stopped  and  taken  up  by  the  watcli.  I  asked  the 
watchman  what  authority  he  had  to  stop  me  travel- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  2G9 

ling  peaceably  on  tlic  liighway  :  he  told  me  he  would 
show  me  his  authority;  and  in  order  thereunto,  had 
lae  into  a  house  hard  by,  where  dwelt  a  scrivener, 
whose  name  was  Pepys.  To  him  he  gave  the  order 
which  he  had  received  from  the  constable,  which  di- 
rected him  to  take  up  all  rogues,  vagabonds,  and  sturdy 
begcjars.  I  asked  him  for  which  of  these  he  stopped 
me,  but  he  could  not  answer  me.  I  thereupon  informed 
hhn  what  a  rogue  in  law  is,  viz.  one  who  for  some 
notorious  offence  was  burnt  on  the  shoulder,  and  I  told 
them  they  might  search  uw  if  they  pleased,  and  see  if  I 
Avas  so  branded.  A  vagabond,  1  told  them,  was  one 
that  had  uo  dwelling-house,  nor  certain  phice  of  abode  ; 
but  I  had,  and  was  going  to  it,  and  I  told  tliem  where  it 
was.  And  for  a  beggar,  I  bid  them  bring  any  one  that 
could  say  I  had  begged,  or  asked  relief. 

This  stopped  the  fellow's  moutli,  yet  he  would  not 
let  me  go;  but,  being  botli  weak-headed  and  strong- 
willed,  he  left  me  there  with  the  scrivener,  and  went 
out  to  seek  the  constable,  and,  having  found  him, 
brought  him  thither.  He  was  a  young  man,  by  trade 
a  tanner,  s(nnewhat  better  mannered  tlian  his  wards- 
man,  but  not  of  much  better  judgment,  lie  took  me 
with  him  to  his  liouse  ;  and  having  settled  me  there, 
went  out  to  take  advice,  as  I  supposed,  Avhat  to  do 
with  me,  leaving  nobody  in  the  house  to  guard  me  but 
his  wife,  who  had  a  young  child  in  her  arms. 

She  inquired  of  me  upon  what  account  I  was  taken 
up,  and,  seeming  to  have  some  pity  for  me,  endeavored 
to  persuade  me  not  to  stay,  but  to  go  my  way,  oilVr- 
ing  to  show  me  a  back  way  from  their  house  which 
would  l)ring  me  into  the  road  again  beyimd  the  town, 
so  tlxat  none  of  the  town  should  see  me,  t)r  know  AA'hat 
was  become  of  me.     But  I  told  her  1  could  not  do  so. 


270  THE   LIFE  OF 

Then  having  sat  awhile  in  a  muse,  she  asked  me  if 
there  was  not  a  place  of  Scripture  wiiich  said  Peter 
was  at  a  tanner's  house.  I  told  her  there  was  such  a 
Scripture,  and  directed  her  \vhere  to  find  it.  After  some 
time  she  laid  her  child  to  sleep  in  a  cradle,  and  stepped 
out  on  a  sudden,  hut  came  not  in  again  in  a  pretty 
while. 

I  was  uneasy  that  I  was  left  alone  in  the  house,  fear- 
ing lest  if  anything  should  be  missing  I  might  he  sus- 
pected to  have  taken  it ;  yet  I  durst  not  go  out  to  stand 
in  the  street,  lest  it  should  he  thought  I  intended 
to  slip  away.  But  besides  that,  I  soon  found  work  to 
employ  myself  in ;  for  the  child,  quickly  waking,  fell 
to  crying,  and  I  was  fain  to  rock  the  cradle  in  my  own 
defence,  that  I  might  not  be  annoyed  with  a  noise  to 
me  not  more  unpleasant  than  unusual.  At  length  the 
woman  came  in  again,  and,  finding  me  nursing  the 
child,  gave  me  many  thanks,  and  seemed  well  pleased 
with  my  company. 

When  niglit  came  on,  the  constable  himself  came  in 
again,  and  told  me  some  of  the  chief  of  the  town  were 
met  together,  to  consider  what  was  fit  to  do  with  me, 
and  tliat  I  must  go  with  him  to  them.  I  went,  and 
he  brought  me  to  a  little  nasty  hut,  which  they  called 
a  town-house,  adjoining  to  their  market-house,  in 
which  dwelt  a  poor  old  woman,  whom  they  called 
Mother  Grime,  where  also  the  watch  used  by  turns  to 
come  in  and  warm  themselves  in  the  night.  When  I 
came  in  among  them,  they  looked  (some  of  them) 
somewhat  sourly  on  me,  and  asked  me  some  imper- 
tinent (juestions,  to  whicli  I  gave  them  suitaVde  an- 
swers. Then  they  consulted  one  with  another  how 
they  should  disitose  of  me  that  night,  till  they  coulil 
have  me  before  some  justice  of  peace  to  be  examined. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  271 

Some  proposed  that  I  should  he  had  to  some  inu,  or 
other  public  house,  and  a  guard  set  on  nie  there.  He 
that  started  this  was  probably  an  inn-keeper,  and 
consulted  his  own  interest.  Others  (»biccted  against 
this,  tliat  it  would  bring  a  charge  on  the  town.  To 
avoid  which,  they  were  for  having  the  watch  take 
cliarge  of  me,  and  keep  me  walking  about  the  streets 
with  them  till  morning.  Must  voices  seemed  to  go 
this  way ;  till  a  third  wished  them  to  consider  whether 
they  could  answer  the  doing  of  that,  and  the  law 
would  bear  them  out  in  it :  and  this  put  them  to  a 
stand.  I  heard  all  their  debates,  but  let  them  alone, 
and  kept  my  mind  to  the  Lord. 

While  they  thus  bandied  the  matter  to  and  fro,  one 
of  the  company  asked  the  rest  if  any  of  them  knew 
who  this  young  man  was,  and  whither  he  was  going : 
whereupon  the  constable  (to  whom  I  had  given  both 
my  name  and  the  name  of  the  town  where  I  dwelt) 
told  them  my  name  was  Ellwood,  and  that  I  lived  at 
a  town  called  Crowell,  in  Oxfordshire.  Old  Mother 
Grime,  sitting  by  and  hearing  this,  clapped  her  hand 
on  her  knee,  and  cried  out:  "  I  know  Mr.  P^lhvood  of 
Crowell  very  well ;  for  when  I  was  a  maid  I  lived  with 
his  grandfather  there,  when  he  was  a  young  man." 
And  thereupon  she  gave  them  such  an  account  of  my 
father  as  made  them  look  more  regardfully  on  me; 
and  so  Mother  Grime's  testimony  turned  the  scale,  and 
took  me  off  from  walking  the  rounds  with  the  watch 
that  night. 

The  constable  hereupon  bid  them  take  no  farther 
care,  I  should  lie  at  his  house  that  night;  and  accord- 
ingly took  me  liome  with  him,  where  I  liad  as  good 
accommodation  as  the  house  did  ati'ord.  Before  I  went 
to  bed,  he  told  me  that  there  was  to  be  a  visitation,  or 


272  THE    LIFE    OF 

spiritual  court  (as  he  called  it)  holden  next  day  at 
Amersham,  about  four  niik's  fnjui  Beaconsiield,  and 
that  I  was  to  be  carried  thither. 

This  was  a  new  thing  tt)  me,  and  it  brought  a  fi-esh 
exercise  upon  my  mind.  But  being  given  up,  in  the 
will  of  Cxod,  to  sutler  what  he  should  ])ermit  to  be  laid 
on  me,  I  endeavcjred  to  keep  my  mind  quiet  and  still. 
In  the  morning,  as  soon  as  I  Avas  up,  my  spirit  was 
exercised  towards  the  Lord,  in  strong  cries  to  him,  that 
he  would  stand  by  me,  and  preserve  me,  and  not  suffer 
me  to  be  taken  in  the  snare  of  the  wicked.  While  I 
was  thus  crying  to  the  Lord,  the  other  constable  came, 
and  I  was  called  down.  This  was  a  budge  fellow, 
and  talked  high.  He  was  a  shoemaker  by  trade,  and 
his  name  was  Clark.  He  threatened  me  with  the 
spiritual  court.  But  \A-hen  he  saw  I  did  not  regard  it, 
he  stopped,  and  left  the  matter  to  his  partner,  who 
pretended  more  kindness  for  me,  and  therefore  went 
about  to  persuade  Clark  to  let  me  go  out  at  the  back 
door,  and  so  slip  away. 

The  plot,  I  suppose,  was  so  laiil  that  Clark  should 
seem  averse,  but  at  length  yield,  whicli  he  did  ;  hut 
would  have  me  take  it  for  a  favor.  But  I  was  so  far 
from  taking  it  so,  that  I  would  not  take  it  at  all,  but 
told  them  plainly,  that  as  I  came  in  at  the  fore  door, 
so  I  would  go  out  at  the  fore  door.  Wlien,  therefore, 
they  saw  they  could  not  bow  me  to  their  will,  they 
brought  me  out  at  the  fore  door  into  the  street,  and 
wished  me  a  good  journey.  Yet  before  I  went,  calling 
for  the  woman  of  the  house,  I  paid  her  for  my  supper 
and  lodging,  for  1  had  now  got  a  little  money  in  my 
pocket  again. 

After  this  I  got  home,  as  I  thought  very  well,  but  I 
had  not  been  long  at  home  before  an  illness  seized  on 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  273 

me  which  proved  to  be  the  small-pox.  Of  M'liich  so 
soon  as  Friends  had  notice,  I  had  a  nurse  sent  me ;  and 
in  a  while  Isaac  Penington  and  his  Avife's  daughter, 
Gulielina  Maria  Spi-ingett,  to  whom  I  had  been  a 
playfellow  in  our  infancy,  came  to  visit  me,  bringing 
with  them  our  dear  friend  Edward  Burrough,  by  whose 
ministry  I  was  called  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth. 

It  pleased  the  Lord  to  deal  favorably  witli  me  in 
this  illness,  both  inwardly  and  outwardly.  For  his 
suppoi'ting  presence  was  with  me,  which  kept  my 
spirit  near  unto  him ;  and  though  the  distemper  was 
strong  upon  me,  yet  I  was  preserved  through  it,  and 
my  countenance  was  not  much  altered  by  it.  But 
after  I  was  got  up  again,  and  while  I  kept  my  cham- 
ber, wanting  some  employment  for  entertainment's 
sake,  to  spend  the  time  with,  and  there  being  at  hand 
a  pretty  good  library  of  books,  amongst  which  were 
the  works  of  Augustine,  and  others  of  those  ancient 
writers,  who  were  by  many  called  the  fathers,  I  betook 
myself  to  reading.  And  these  books  being  printed  in 
the  old  black  letter,  with  abbreviations  of  the  words, 
difficult  to  be  read,  I  spent  too  much  time  therein, 
and  thereby  much  impaired  my  sight,  which  was  not 
strong  before,  and  was  now  weaker  than  usual  by 
reason  of  the  illness  I  had  so  newly  had,  which  proved 
an  injury  to  me  afterwards ;  for  which  reason  I  here 
mention  it. 

After  I  was  well  enough  to  go  abroad,  with  respect 
to  my  own  health,  and  the  safety  of  others,  I  went 
up,  in  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  month,  16(11,  to 
my  friend  Isaac  Penington's,  at  Chalfont,  and  abode 
there  some  time,  for  the  airing  myself  more  fully,  that 
I  might  be  more  fit  for  conversation. 

I  mentioned  before,  that  when  I  was  a  boy  I  had 


274  THE   LIFE   OF 

made  some  good  progress  in  learning,  and  lost  it  all 
again  before  I  came  to  be  a  man ;  nor  was  I  rightly 
sousihlc  of  my  loss  tin-rein  until  I  came  amongst  the 
Quakers.  But  then  I  both  saw  my  loss  and  lamented 
it ;  and  applied  myself  with  the  utmost  diligence,  at  all 
leisure  times,  to  recover  it ;  so  false  I  found  that  charge 
to  be  which  in  those  times  was  cast  as  a  reproach  upon 
the  Quakers,  that  they  despised  and  decried  all  human 
learning,  because  they  denied  it  to  be  essentially 
necessary  to  a  gospel  ministry,  which  was  one  of  the 
controversies  of  those  times. 

But  though  I  toiled  hard,  and  spared  no  pains  to 
regain  what  once  I  had  been  master  of,  yet  I  found  it 
a  matter  of  so  great  difficulty,  that  I  was  ready  to  say, 
as  the  noble  eunuch  to  Philip  iu  another  case,  ''  How 
can  I,  unless  I  had  some  man  to  guide  me  f  "  This  I 
had  formerly  complained  of  to  my  especial  friend 
Isaac  Penington,  but  now  more  earnestly,  which  put 
him  upon  consideriug  and  contriving  a  means  for  my 
assistance.  He  had  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
Dr.  Paget,  a  physician  of  note  in  London,  and  he  with 
Jolm  jMilton,  a  gentleman  of  great  note  for  learning 
throughout  the  learned  world,  i'or  the  accurate  pieces 
he  had  WTitten  on  varif)us  subjects  and  occasions. 
Tliis  person,  having  filled  a  public  station  in  the  for- 
mer times,  lived  now  a  private  and  retired  life  iu 
London,  and  having  wholly  lost  his  sight,  kept  always 
a  man  to  read  to  him,  who  usually  was  the  son  of 
some  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance,  whom  in  kind- 
ness he  took  to  improve  in  his  learning. 

Thus,  by  the  mediation  of  my  friend  Isaac  Pening- 
ton with  Dr.  Paget,  and  Dr.  Paget  with  John  Milton, 
was  I  admitted  to  come  to  hiin,  not  as  a  servant  to 
him  (wluch  at  that  time  he  needed  not),  nor  to  be  iu 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  275 

the  house  with  hiin,  but  only  to  have  the  liberty  of 
coming  to  his  house  at  certain  hours  when  I  would,  and 
to  read  to  him  what  books  he  should  appoint  me, 
which  was  all  the  favor  I  desired.  But  this  bein"-  a 
matter  which  would  require  some  time  to  bring  it  about, 
I,  in  the  mean  while,  returned  to  my  father's  house  in 
Oxfordshire. 

I  had  before  received  direction,  by  letters  from  my 
eldest  sister,  written  by  my  father's  command,  to  put 
off  what  cattle  he  had  left  about  his  house,  and  to  dis- 
charge his  servants ;  which  I  had  done  at  the  time 
called  Michaeluias  before.  So  that  all  the  winter,  when 
I  was  at  home,  I  lived  like  a  hermit  all  alone,  having 
a  pretty  large  house  and  nobody  in  it  but  myself,  at 
nights  especially;  but  an  elderly  woman,  whose  lather 
liad  been  an  old  servant  to  the  family,  came  every 
morning  and  made  my  bed,  and  did  what  else  I  had 
occasion  fur  her  to  do,  till  I  fell  ill  of  the  small-pox,  and 
tlien  I  had  her  witli  me  and  the  nurse.  But  now,  un- 
derstanding by  letter  from  my  sister,  that  my  father 
did  not  intend  to  return  to  settle  there,  I  made  off  those 
provisions  which  were  in  the  house,  that  they  might 
not  be  spoiled  when  I  was  gone  ;  and  because  they 
were  wliat  I  should  have  spent  if  I  had  tarried  there,  I 
took  the  money  made  of  them  to  myself  for  my  sup-- 
l)ort  at  London,  if  the  project  succeeded  for  my  going 
thitlier. 

This  done,  I  committed  the  care  of  tlie  house  to  a 
tenant  of  my  father's  who  lived  in  the  town,  and,  tak- 
ing my  leave  of  Crowell,  went  up  to  my  sure  friend, 
Isaac  Penington,  again ;  where,  nudcrstancUng  that  the 
mediation  used  for  my  admittance  to  John  ]Milton  had 
succeeded  no  well  that  I  might  come  when  I  Avould,  I 
hastened  to  London,  and  in  the  lii-st  place  went  to  wait 


276  THE   LIFE   OF 

upon  him.  He  received  me  courteously,  as  well  for 
the  sake  of  Dr.  Paget,  who  introduced  me,  as  of  Isaac 
Peuington,  who  recommended  me  ;  to  both  of  whom  he 
bore  agood  respect.  And  having  inquired  divers  things 
of  me,  with  respect  to  my  former  pi'ogression  in  learn- 
ing, he  dismissed  me,  to  provide  myself  such  accommo- 
dations as  might  be  most  suitable  for  my  futui'e  studies. 
I  went  therefore  and  took  myself  a  lodging  as  near  to 
his  house,  which  was  then  in  Jewin  Street,  as  con- 
veniently I  could  ;  and  from  thencefoi-\\'ard  went  every 
day  in  the  afternt»on,  except  on  the  first  days  of  the 
week,  and  sitting  by  him  in  his  dining-room,  read  to 
him  in  such  books  in  the  Latin  tongue  as  he  jjleased 
to  hear  me  read. 

At  my  first  sitting  to  read  to  him,  observing  that  I 
used  the  English  pronunciation,  he  tidd  me  if  I  Avould 
have  the  benefit  of  the  Latin  tongue,  uot  only  to  read 
and  understand  Latin  authors,  but  to  converse  with 
foreigners,  either  abroad  or  at  home,  I  must  learn  the 
foreign  pronunciation.  To  this  I  consenting,  he  in- 
structed me  how  to  sound  the  vowels  ;  so  difterent  from 
the  common  pronunciation  used  liy  the  English,  who 
speak  Anglice  tlieir  Latin,  that  (with  some  few  other 
variations  in  sounding  some  consonants  in  particular 
cases,  as  c  before  e  or  i,  like  ch;  sc  before  i,  like  sh,  etc.) 
the  Latin  thus  spoken  seemed  as  diffV'rent  from  that 
wliich  was  delivered  as  the  English  generally  speak  it, 
as  if  it  were  another  language. 

I  had  before,  during  my  retired  life  at  my  fathei-'s, 
by  unwearied  diligence  and  industry,  so  far  recovered 
tlie  rules  of  grammar,  in  which  I  had  once  been  very 
ready,  that  I  could  both  read  a  Latin  author,  and  after 
a  sort,  hammer  out  his  meaning.  But  this  change  of 
pronunciation  proved  a  new  diliiculty  to  me.     It  was 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  277 

now  liiirder  to  me  to  read,  than  it  was  before  to  under- 
stand when  read.     But 

"  Labor  omnia  vincit 
Improbus." 

Incessant  pains 
The  end  obtains. 

And  so  did  I.  Which  made  my  reading  the  more 
acceptable  to  my  master.  He,  on  the  other  liaml, 
perceiving  with  what  earnest  desire  I  pursued  Earn- 
ing, gave  me  not  only  all  the  encouragement,  but  all 
the  help  he  could.  For,  having  a  curious  ear,  he  un- 
derstood by  my  tone  when  I  understood  what  I  read 
and  when  I  did  not;  and  accordingly  would  stop 
me,  examine  me,  and  open  the  most  cUtficult  passages 
to  me. 

Thus  went  I  on,  for  about  six  weeks'  time,  reading  to 
him  in  the  afternoons  ;  and,  exercising  myself  with  my 
own  books  in  my  chamber  iu  the  forenoons,  I  was  sen- 
sible of  an  improvement.  But  alas  !  I  had  fixed  my 
studies  in  a  wrt)ng  place.  London  and  I  could  never 
agree  for  health  ;  my  lungs,  I  suppose,  were  too  tender 
to  bear  the  sulphurous  air  of  that  city,  so  that  I  soon 
began  to  droop ;  and  iu  less  than  two  months'  time  I 
was  fain  to  leave  both  my  studies  and  the  city,  and 
return  into  the  country  to  preserve  life  ;  and  much  ado 
I  had  to  get  thither. 

I  chose  to  go  down  to  Wycombe,  and  to  John 
Raunce's  house  there ;  both  as  he  was  a  physician,  and 
his  wife  an  honest,  hearty,  discreet,  and  grave  matron, 
whom  I  had  a  very  good  esteem  of,  and  who  I  knew 
had  a  good  regard  for  me.  Tlicre  I  lay  ill  a  consid- 
erable time,  and  to  that  degree  of  weakness,  that 
scarcely  any  who  saw  me  expected  my  hfe.     But  the 


278  THE  LIFE   OF 

Lord  was  both  gracious  to  me  in  my  illness,  and  was 
pleased  to  raise  me  up  again,  that  I  might  serve  him 
in  my  generation. 

As  soon  as  I  had  recovered  so  much  strength  as  to 
be  fit  to  travel,  I  obtained  of  my  ftither  (who  was 
then  at  his  house  in  Crowell,  to  dispose  of  some 
things  he  had  there,  and  who  in  my  illness  had  come  to 
see  me)  st>  much  money  as  would  clear  all  charges  in 
the  house  for  both  physic,  food,  and  attendance  ;  and, 
having  fully  discharged  all,  I  t«)ok  leave  of  my  friends 
in  tliat  family  and  in  the  town,  and  returned  to  my 
studies  at  London.  I  was  very  kindly  received  by  my 
master,  who  had  conceived  so  good  an  opinion  of  me 
that  my  conversation  I  found  was  acceptable  to  him, 
and  he  seemed  heartily  glad  of  my  recovery  and  re- 
turn ;  and  into  our  old  method  of  study  we  fell  again, 
I  reading  to  him,  and  he  explaining  to  me  as  occasion 
required. 

But,  as  if  learning  had  been  a  forbidden  fruit  to  me, 
scarce  was  I  well  settled  in  my  work  before  I  met 
with  another  diversion,  Mdiich  turned  me  quite  out  of 
my  work.  For  a  sudden  storm  arising,  from  I  know 
not  what  surmise  of  a  plot,  and  thereby  danger  to  the 
government ;  and  the  meetings  of  dissenters  (such  I 
mean  as  could  be  found,  which  perhaps  were  not  many 
besides  the  Quakers)  were  broken  up  throughout  the 
city,  and  the  prisons  mostly  filled  with  oin-  friends. 

I  was  that  morning,  which  was  the  2Gth  day  of  the 
eighth  month,  \GG2,  at  the  meeting  at  the  BuU  and 
Mouth,  by  Alderstcate,  when  on  a,  sudden  a  party  of 
soldiers  of  the  trained  bands  of  the  city  rushed  in,  with 
noise  and  clamor,  being  led  by  one  who  was  called 
Major  Rosewell,  an  apothecary,  if  I  misremember  not, 
and  at  that  time  under  the  ill  name  of  a  Papist.     As 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  279 

soon  as  he  was  come  within  the  room,  having  a  file  or 
two  of  musketeers  at  his  heels,  he  commanded  his  men 
to  present  their  muskets  at  us,  wliich  they  did ;  with 
intent,  I  suppose,  to  strike  a  terror  into  the  peo[ile. 
Tlieu  he  made  a  proclamation,  that  all  who  were  not 
Quakers  might  depart  if  they  would. 

It  so  happened  that  a  young  man,  an  apprentice  in 

London,  wliose  name  was Dove,  the  son  of  Dr. 

Dove,  of  Chinner,  near  Crowell,  in  Oxfordshire,  came 
that  day,  in  curiosity,  to  see  the  meeting,  and,  coming 
early,  and  finding  me  there,  whom  he  knew,  came  and 
sat  down  by  me.  As  soon  as  he  heard  the  noise  of 
siddiers  he  was  much  startled,  and  asked  me  softly  if 
I  would  not  shift  for  myself,  and  try  to  get  out.  I 
t(dd  him  no  ;  I  was  in  my  place,  and  Avas  willing  to 
sufl^er  if  it  was  my  lot.  When  he  found  the  notice 
given  that  they  wlio  were  not  Quakers  might  depart, 
he  solicited  me  again  to  be  gone.  I  t(dd  him  I  could 
not  do  so,  for  that  would  be  to  renounce  my  profession, 
which  I  would  ])y  no  means  do.  But  as  for  him,  who 
was  not  one  of  us,  lie  miglit  do  as  he  i)leased.  Where- 
upon, wishing  me  well,  he  turned  away,  and  with  cap 
in  hand  went  out.  And  truly  I  was  glad  he  was  gone, 
for  his  master  was  a  rigid  Presbyterian,  who,  in  all 
likelihood,  would  have  led  him  a  wretched  life  had  he 
been  taken  and  imprisoned  among  the  Quakers. 

The  Sfddicrs  came  so  early  that  the  meeting  was  not 
fully  gathered  wlien  they  came ;  and,  when  the  mixed 
company  were  gone  out,  we  were  so  few,  and  sat  so 
thin  in  that  large;  room,  that  they  miglit  take  a  clear 
view  of  us  all,  and  singde  us  out  as  they  pleased.  He 
tliat  commanded  the  party  gave  us  first  a  general 
charge  t<»  come  out  of  the  room.  ]5ut  we,  wlio  came 
thither  at  God's  requirings,  to  worship  him,  like  that 


280  THE   LIFE   OF 

good  mtin  of  old,  who  said,  "  We  ought  to  ohoy  God 
rather  tlian  men  "  (Acts  v.  29),  stirred  not,  hut  kept 
our  jdacos.  Wliereupon  he  sent  some  of  his  soldiers 
among  lis,  with  command  to  drag  or  diive  us  out, 
Avhicli  they  did  njughly  enough. 

When  we  came  out  into  the  street,  we  were  received 
there  hy  other  soldiers,  who,  with  their  pikes  holden 
lengthways  from  one  another,  encompassed  us  round  as 
sheep  in  a  pound ;  and  there  we  stt)od  a  pretty  time, 
while  they  were  picking  up  more  to  add  to  our  num- 
ber. In  this  work  none  seemed  so  eager  and  active  as 
their  leader.  Major  Rosewell.  Wliicli  I  observing, 
stepped  boldly  to  him,  as  he  was  passing  by  me,  and 
asked  lain  if  he  intended  a  massacre ,  for  of  that,  in 
those  times,  there  was  a  great  appi'ehension  and  talk. 
The  suddenness  of  the  question,  from  such  a  young  man 
especially,  somewhat  startled  him ;  but  recollecting 
himself,  he  answered,  "No;  but  T  intend  to  have  you 
all  hanged  by  the  wholesome  laws  of  the  land." 

When  he  had  gotten  as  many  as  he  could,  or  thought 
fit,  which  were  in  number  thirty-two,  whereof  two  were 
catched  up  in  the  street,  who  had  not  been  at  the  meet- 
ing, he  ordered  the  pikes  to  be  opened  before  us ;  and 
giving  the  word  to  march,  went  himself  at  the  head 
of  us,  the  soldiers  with  their  pikes  making  a  lane  to 
keep  us  from  scattering. 

He  led  us  up  Martin's,  and  so  tumed  down  to  New- 
gate, where  I  expected  he  would  lodge  us.  But,  to  my 
disappointment,  he  went  on  through  Newgate,  and, 
turning  through  the  Old  Biiiley,  brouglit  us  into  Fleet 
Street.  I  was  then  wholly  at  a  loss  to  conjecture 
whither  he  would  lead  us,  unless  it  were  to  Whitehall, 
for  I  knew  nothing  then  of  Old  Bridewell;  but  on  a 
sudden  he  gave  a  short  turn,  and  brought  us  before  the 


TIIOMxVS   ELLWOOD.  281 

gate  of  that  prison,  where,  knocking,  the  wicket  was 
forthwith  optniedj  and  the  master,  with  his  porter, 
ready  to  receive  us. 

One  of  those  two  who  were  picked  np  in  the  street 
being  near  me,  and  telling  me  his  case,  I  stepped  to  the 
major,  and  told  him  that  this  man  was  not  at  the  meet- 
ing, but  was  taken  up  in  the  street ;  and  showed  him 
how  hard  and  unjust  a  thing  it  would  he  to  put  him 
into  prison.  I  had  nt>t  pleased  him  before  in  the  ques- 
tion I  had  put  to  him  about  a  massiicrc ;  and  that,  I 
suppose,  made  this  solicitation  less  acceptable  to  him 
from  me  than  it  might  have  been  from  some  other. 
For,  looking  sternly  on  me,  he  said,  "Who  are  you, 
that  take  so  much  upon  you  ?  Seeing  you  are  so  busy, 
you  shall  be  the  first  man  that  shall  go  into  Bridewell." 
And,  taking  me  by  the  shoulders,  he  thrust  me  in. 

As  soon  as  I  was  in,  the  porter,  pointing  with  his 
finger,  directed  me  to  a  fair  pair  of  stairs  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  a  large  court,  and  bid  me  go  up  those 
stairs,  and  go  on  till  I  could  go  no  farther.  Accord- 
ingly I  went  up  the  stairs ;  the  first  Ihght  whereof 
brought  me  to  a  fair  chapel  on  my  left  hand,  which 
I  could  look  into  through  the  iron  grates,  but  could 
not  have  gone  into  if  I  would.  I  knew  that  was  not 
a  place  for  me;  wherefore,  following  my  direction, 
and  the  winding  of  the  stairs,  I  went  up  a  story  higher, 
whicli  brought  me  into  a  room,  which  I  soon  perceived 
to  be  a  court-room,  or  place  of  judicature.  After  I 
had  stood  awhile  there,  and  taken  a  view  of  it,  observ- 
ing a  door  on  tlie  farther  side,  I  went  to  it,  and  opened 
it  with  intention  to  ijo  in,  but  T  <|uickly  drew  back, 
being  almost  atiViglited  at  the  disiiialiH's.s  of  the  place. 
For  besides  that  the  walls  quite  round  were  laid  all 
over,  from  t<)p  to  bottom,  in  black,  there  stood  in  the 


282  THE   LIFE   OF 

middle  of  it  <a  great  whipping-post,  M'hicli  was  all  the 
furniture  it  had. 

In  (.)ne  of  tliese  two  rooms  judgment  was  given,  and 
in  the  other  it  was  executed,  on  those  ill  people  who 
for  their  lewdness  were  sent  to  this  prison,  and  there 
sentenced  to  he  whipped.  Which  was  so  contrived, 
that  tlie  court  might  not  only  hear,  hut  see,  if  they 
pleased,  their  sentence  executed.  A  sight  so  unex- 
pected, and  withal  so  unpleasing,  gave  me  no  encour- 
agement either  to  rest,  or  indeed  to  enter  at  all  there; 
till  looking  earnestly  I  espied,  on  the  opposite  side,  a 
door  which,  giving  me  hopes  of  a  farther  progress,  I 
adventured  to  step  hastily  to  it,  and  opened  it. 

This  let  me  into  one  of  the  fairest  rooms  that,  so  far 
as  I  rememher,  I  was  ever  in,  and  no  wonder;  for 
though  it  was  now  put  to  this  mean  use,  it  had,  for 
many  ages  past,  l)een  the  royal  seat  or  palace  of  the 
kings  of  England,  until  Cardinal  Wolsey  huilt  White- 
hall, and  oftbred  it  as  a  peace-offering  to  King  Henry 
the  Eighth,  who  until  that  time  had  kept  his  court  in 
this  house,  and  had  this,  as  the  people  in  the  house 
reported,  for  his  dining-room,  by  which  name  it  then 
went.  This  room  in  length  (for  I  lived  long  enough 
in  it  to  have  time  to  measure  it)  was  threescore  feet, 
and  had  breadth  proportionable  to  it.  In  it,  on  the 
front  side,  were  very  large  bay  windows,  in  which 
stood  a  lai-ge  table.  It  had  other  very  large  tables  in 
it,  with  l)enclies  round  ;  and  at  that  time  the  floor  was 
covered  with  ruslics,  against  some  solemn  festival, 
which  I  heard  it  was  bespoken  for. 

Here  was  my  nil  nlfni,  and  here  I  found  I  might  set 
up  my  ])illar;  for  although  there  was  a  door  out  of  it 
to  a  back  pair  of  stairs  which  led  to  it,  yet  that  was 
kept  locked.     So  that  finding  I  had  now  followed  my 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD.  283 

keeper's  direction  to  the  utmost  point,  'beyond  which 
I  could  not  go,  I  sat  down  and  considered  that  rhetor- 
ical saying,  that  "the  way  to  heavtai  lay  l>y  the  gate 
of  hell "  ;  the  black  room,  through  which  I  passed  into 
this,  bearing  some  resemblance  to  tlie  latter,  as  tliis, 
comparatively  and  by  way  of  allusion,  might  in  some 
sort  be  thought  to  bear  to  the  former.  But  I  was 
quickly  put  out  of  these  thoughts  by  the  flocking  in 
of  the  other  Friends,  my  fellow-prisoners ;  amongst 
whom  yet,  when  all  were  come  together,  there  was  but 
one  whom  I  knew  so  much  as  by  face,  and  with  him  I 
had  no  acquaintance.  For  I  having  been  but  a  little 
while  in  the  city,  and  in  that  time  kept  close  to  my 
studies,  I  was  by  that  means  kno\^-n  to  very  few. 

Soon  after  we  were  all  gotten  together,  came  up  the 
master  of  the  house  after  us,  and  demanded  our  names, 
which  we  might  reasonably  have  refused  to  give  till  we 
had  been  legally  convened  before  some  civil  magistrate, 
who  had  power  to  examine  us  and  demand  our  names ; 
but  we  who  were  neither  guileful  nor  wilful,  simply 
gave  him  our  names,  which  he  took  down  in  writing. 

It  was,  as  I  hinted  before,  a  general  storm  which 
fell  that  day,  but  it  lighted  most,  and  most  heavy,  upon 
our  meetings  ;  so  that  most  of  our  men  Friends  were 
made  prisoners,  and  the  prisons  generally  filled.  And 
great  work  had  the  women  to  run  about  from  prison 
to  prison  to  find  their  husbands,  their  fathers,  their 
brothers,  or  their  servants  ;  for  accordingly  as  they  had 
disposed  themselves  to  several  meetings,  so  were  they 
dispersed  to  several  prisons.  And  no  less  care  and 
pains  bad  tliey,  wlien  they  had  found  them,  to  furnish 
them  with  provisions,  and  other  necessary  acconnno- 
dations. 

But  an  excellent  order,  even  in  tliose  early  days,  was 


284  THE   LIFE   OF 

practised  among  the  Friends  of  that  city,  by  which  there 
were  certain  Friends  of  either  sex  appointed  to  liavethe 
oversight  of  the  prisons  in  every  quarter,  and  to  take 
care  of  all  Friends,  the  poor  especially,  that  should  he 
committed  thither.  This  prison  of  Bridewell  was 
under  the  care  of  two  honest,  grave,  discreet,  and 
motherly  women,  whose  names  were  Anne  Merrick 
(afterwards  Vivers)  and  Anne  Travers,  both  widows. 
They,  as  soon  as  they  understood  that  there  were 
Friends  brought  into  that  prison,  provided  some  hot 
victuals,  meat  and  broth,  for  the  weather  was  cold ; 
and,  ordering  their  servants  to  bring  it  them,  with 
bread,  cheese,  .and  beer,  came  themselves  also  with  it, 
and,  having  placed  it  on  a  table,  gave  notice  to  us  that 
it  was  provided  for  all  those  that  had  not  others  to 
provide  for  them,  or  were  not  able  to  provide  for  tli em- 
selves.  And  there  wanted  not  among  us  a  competent 
number  of  such  guests. 

As  for  my  part,  though  I  had  lived  as  frugally  as 
possibly  I  could,  that  I  might  draw  out  the  thread  of 
my  little  stock  to  the  utmost  length,  yet  had  I,  by  this 
time,  reduced  it  to  tenpence,  which  was  all  the  money 
I  had  about  me,  or  anywhere  else  at  my  command. 
This  was  but  a  small  estate  to  enter  upon  an  imprison- 
ment with,  yet  was  I  not  at  all  discouraged  at  it,  nor 
had  I  a  murmuring  thought.  I  had  known  what  it 
was  moderately  to  abound,  and  if  I  should  now  come 
to  suffer  want,  I  knew  I  ought  to  be  content ;  and 
through  tlie  grace  of  God  I  was  so.  I  had  lived  by 
Providence  before,  when  for  a  long  time  I  had  no 
money  at  all;  and  I  had  always  found  the  Lord  a  good 
provider.  I  made  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  he  who  set 
the  ravens  to  feed  Elijah,  and  who  clothes  the  lilies, 
would  find  some  means  to  sustain  me  with  needful 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  285 

food  and  raiment ;  and  I  had  learned  by  experience  the 
truth  of  that  saying,  Natura  paucis  contenta,  i.  e.  Na- 
ture is  content  with  few  things  or  little. 

Althougli  the  siglit  and  smell  of  hot  food  was  suffi- 
ciently enticing  to  my  empty  stomach,  for  I  had  eaten 
little  that  morning,  and  was  hungry,  yet,  considering 
the  terms  of  the  invitation,  I  questioned  whether  I  was 
included  in  it;  and  after  some  reasonings,  at  length 
concluded  that,  while  I  had  tenpence  in  my  pocket,  I 
should  he  an  injurious  intruder  to  that  mess,  which 
was  provided  for  such  as  perhaps  had  not  twojience  in 
theirs.  Being  come  to  this  resolution,  I  withdrew  as 
far  from  the  table  as  I  could,  and  sat  down  in  a  quiet 
retirement  of  mind  till  the  repast  was  over,  which  was 
not  long,  for  there  were  hands  enough  at  it  to  make 
light  worlv  of  it.  AVhen  evening  came,  the  porter 
came  np  the  back  stairs,  and,  opening  the  door,  told  us 
if  we  desired  to  have  anything  that  was  to  be  had  in 
the  house,  he  would  bring  it  us;  for  there  was  in 
the  house  a  chandler's  shop,  at  which  beer,  bread,  but- 
ter, cheese,  eggs,  and  bacon  might  be  had  for  money. 
Upon  whicli  many  went  to  him  and  spake  for  what 
of  these  things  they  had  a  mind  to,  giving  him  money 
to  pay  for  tliein.  Among  the  rest  went  I,  and,  intend- 
ing to  spin  out  my  tenpence  as  far  as  I  could,  desired 
him  to  bring  me  a  penny  loaf  only.  When  he  re- 
turned, we  all  resorted  to  him  to  receive  our  several 
provisions,  which  he  delivered  ;  and  when  he  came  to 
me,  he  told  me  he  could  not  get  a  penny  loaf,  but  he 
had  brought  me  two  halfpenny  loaves.  This  suited 
me  better ;  wherefore,  returning  to  my  place  again,  I 
sat  down  and  eat  up  one  of  my  loaves,  reserving  the 
other  for  the  next  day.  This  w^as  to  me  both  dinner 
and  supper;  and  so  w^ell  satisfied  T  w'as  witli  it,  that  I 


286  THE  LIFE   OF 

could  willingly  then  have  gone  to  bed,  if  I  had  had  one 
to  go  to ;  hut  that  was  not  to  he  expected  there,  nor 
had  any  one  any  liedding  hrought  in  that  night.  Some 
of  tlie  coni})any  had  hccn  so  eont^iderate  as  to  send  for 
a  pound  of  candles,  tliat  we  might  not  sit  all  night  in 
the  dark ;  and  having  lighted  divers  of  them,  and 
placed  them  in  several  parts  of  that  large  room,  wo 
kept  walking  to  keep  us  warm. 

After  I  had  warmed  myself  pretty  thoroughly,  and 
the  evening  was  pretty  far  spent,  I  hethouglit  myself 
of  a  lodging  ;  and  cast  my  eye  on  the  tahle  whidi  stood 
in  the  hay  window,  the  frame  whereof  looked,  I  thouglit, 
somewhat  like  a  bedstead.  Wherefore, .willing  to  make 
sui'e  of  that.  I  gathered  up  a  good  armful  of  the  rushes, 
wherewith  the  Hoor  was  covered,  and  sjireading  them 
under  that  table,  crept  in  upon  them  in  my  clothes,  and 
keeping  on  my  hat,  laid  my  head  upon  one  end  tif  tlie 
table's  frame,  instead  of  a  bolster.  My  examjilc  was 
followed  by  the  rest,  who,  gathering  up  rushes  as  I  liad 
done,  made  themselves  beds  in  other  parts  of  the  room, 
and  so  to  rest  we  went.  I,  having  a  (piiet  easy  mind, 
was  soon  asleep,  and  slept  till  about  tlie  middle  of  the 
night ;  and  then  waking,  finding  my  legs  and  feet  very 
cold,  I  crept  out  of  my  cabin,  and  began  to  walk  about 
apace.  This  waked  and  raised  all  the  rest,  who,  find- 
ing themselves  cold  as  well  as  I,  got  up  and  walked 
about  with  me,  till  we  had  pretty  well  warmed  our- 
selves, and  then  we  all  lay  down  again,  and  rested  till 
morning. 

Next  day  all  they  who  had  families,  or  belonged  to 
families,  had  bedding  brought  in  of  one  sort  or  other, 
which  they  dis])(>sed  at  the  ends  and  sides  of  the  room, 
leaving  the  middle  void  to  walk  in.  IJut  I,  wlio  had 
nobody  to  look  after  me,  kept  to  my  rushy  pallet  un- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  287 

der  the  table  for  four  nights  together,  in  which  time 
I  did  not  put  off  my  clothes  ;  yet,  through  the  merciful 
goodness  of  God  unto  me,  1  rested  and  slei)t  well,  and 
enjoyed  health,  without  taking  cold.  In  this  time 
divers  of  our  company,  through  the  solicitations  of 
some  of  their  relations  or  acquaintance  to  Sir  Richard 
Brown  (who  was  at  that  time  a  great  master  of  mis- 
rule in  the  city,  and  over  Bridewell  more  especially), 
were  released;  and  among  these  one  William  Mucklow, 
who  lay  in  a  hammock.  He,  having  observed  tluit  I 
only  was  unprovided  of  lodging,  came  very  courteously 
to  me,  and  kindly  offered  me  the  use  (jf  his  hammock 
while  I  should  continue  a  prisoner.  This  was  a  provi- 
dential accommodation  to  me,  which  I  received  thank- 
fully, both  from  the  L(n-d  and  from  him  ;  and  from  thence- 
forth I  thought  I  lay  as  well  as  ever  I  had  done  in  my  life. 
Amongst  those  that  remained,  there  were  several 
young  men  who  cijst  themselves  into  a  club,  and  lay- 
ing down  every  one  an  equal  proportion  of  money,  ])ut 
it  into  the  hand  of  our  friend  Anne  Travers,  desir- 
iug  her  to  lay  it  out  for  them  in  provisions,  and 
send  them  in  every  day  a  mess  of  hot  meat ;  and 
they  kindly  invited  me  to  come  into  their  club 
with  them.  These  saw  my  person,  and  judged  of 
ine  by  that,  but  they  saw  not  my  ])urse,  nor  under- 
stood the  lightness  of  my  pocket.  But  I,  wlio  alone 
imderstood  my  own  condition,  knew  I  must  sit  down 
with  lower  commons.  Wherefore,  not  giving  them  the 
true  reason,  I,  as  fairly  as  I  could,  excused  myself  from 
entering  at  present  into  their  mess,  and  went  on,  as 
before,  to  cat  by  myself,  and  that  very  sparingly,  as 
my  stock  WDuld  Ix-ar.  And  before  my  tenpence  was 
quite  spent,  Providence,  ou  whom  1  relied,  sent  me  a 
fresh  supply. 


288  THE    LIFE   OF 

For  William  Penington,  a  brother  of  Isaac  Peiiing- 
ton's,  a  friend  and  merchant  in  London,  at  whose  house, 
before  I  came  to  live  in  the  city,  I  was  wont  to  lodge, 
having  been  at  his  brother's  that  day  upon  a  visit, 
escaped  this  storm,  and  so  was  at  liberty  ;  and  under- 
standing when  he  came  back  what  had  been  done, 
bethought  himself  of  me,  and  upon  inquiry  hearing 
where  I  was,  came  in  love  to  see  me.  He,  in  dis- 
course amongst  other  things,  asked  me  how  it  was 
with  me  as  to  money,  and  how  well  I  was  furnished  ; 
I  told  him  I  could  not  boast  of  much,  and  yet  1  could 
not  say  I  had  none ;  though  what  I  then  had  was  in- 
deed next  to  none.  Whereupon  he  put  twenty  shillings 
into  my  hand,  and  desired  me  to  accept  of  tliat  for  the 
present.  I  saw  a  Divine  hand  in  thus  opening  his 
heart  and  hand  in  this  manner  to  me.  And  tliougli  I 
would  willingly  have  been  excused  from  taking  so 
much,  and  would  have  returned  one  half  of  it,  yet,  he 
pressing  it  all  upon  me,  I  received  it  with  a  thankful 
acknowledgment,  as  a  token  of  love  from  the  Lord  and 
from  him. 

On  the  seventh  day  he  went  down  again,  as  he 
usually  did,  to  his  brother's  house  at  Chalfont ;  and 
in  discourse  gave  them  an  account  of  my  imprison- 
ment. Whereupon,  at  his  return  on  the  second  day 
of  the  week  following,  my  aftectionatc  friend  Mary 
Penington  sent  me  by  him  forty  shillings,  which  he 
soon  after  brought  me  ;  out  of  which  I  would  have 
rei)aid  him  the  twenty  shillings  he  had  so  khidly  fur- 
nished me  with  ;  but  he  would  not  admit  it,  telling 
me  I  might  have  occasion  for  that  and  more  before  I 
got  my  liberty.  Not  many  days  after  this  I  received 
twenty  shillings  from  my  father,  who  being  then  at  his 
house  in  Oxfordshire,   and   by  letter  from    my  sister 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  289 

Tmderstanding  that  I  was  a  prisoner  in  Bridewell,  sent 
this  money  to  me  for  my  support  there  ;  and  withal  a 
letter  to  my  sister,  for  her  to  deliver  to  one  called  Mr. 
Wray,  who  lived  near  Bridewell,  and  was  a  servant  to 
Sir  Richard  Brown,  in  some  wharf  of  his,  requesting 
him  to  intercede  with  his  master,  who  was  one  of  the 
governors  of  Bridewell,  for  my  deliverance.  But  that 
letter  coming  to  my  hands,  I  suppressed  it,  and  have 
it  yet  by  me. 

Now  was  my  pocket,  from  the  lowest  ehb,  risen  to 
a  full  tide.  I  was  at  the  brink  of  want,  next  door  to 
nothing,  yet  my  confidence  did  not  fail  nor  my  faith 
stagger ;  and  now  on  a  sudden  I  had  plentiful  supplies, 
shower  upon  shower,  so  that  I  abounded,  yet  was  not 
lifted  up,  but  in  humility  could  say,  "  This  is  the 
Lord's  doing."  And,  without  defrauding  any  of  the 
instruments  of  the  acknowledgments  due  unto  them, 
mine  eye  looked  over  and  beyond  them  to  the  Lord, 
who  I  saw  was  the  author  thereof,  and  prime  agent 
therein,  and  with  a  thankful  heart  I  returned  thanks- 
givings and  praises  to  him.  And  this  great  goodness 
of  the  Lord  to  me  I  thus  record  to  the  end  that  all 
into  whose  hands  this  may  come  may  be  encouraged 
to  trust  in  the  Lord,  whose  mercy  is  over  all  his  works, 
and  who  is  indeed  a  God  near  at  hand  to  lielp  in  tlie 
needful  time.  Now  I  durst  venture  myself  into  the 
club,  to  which  I  had  been  invited,  and  accordingly 
(having  by  this  time  gained  an  acquaintance  with 
tliem)  took  an  opportunity  to  cast  myself  among  them  ; 
and  thenceforward,  so  long  as  we  continued  prisoners 
there  together,  I  was  one  of  their  mess. 

And  now  the  chief  thing  I  wanteil  was  emjdoyment, 
which  scarcely  any  wanted  but  myself;  for  tbe  rest  of 
my  company  were  generally  tradesmen,  of  such  trades 


200  THE   LIFE   OF 

as  could  set  themselves  on  work.  Of  these  divers  were 
tailors,  some  masters,  some  journeymen,  and  with 
these  I  most  inclined  to  settle.  But  hecausi;  I  M'as 
too  much  a  novice  in  their  art  to  he  trusted  witli  tlieir 
work  lest  I  sliould  spoil  the  garment,  I  got  work  from 
a  hosier  in  Cheapside  ;  which  was  to  make  night- 
waistcoats,  of  red  and  yellow  Hannel,  for  women  and 
cliilth-en.  And  with  this  I  entered  myself  among  the 
tailors,  sitting  cross-legged  as  they  did,  and  so  spent 
those  leisure  liours  witli  innoccncy  and  pleasure,  which 
want  of  husiness  would  have  made  tedious.  And 
indeed  that  was,  in  a  manner,  the  only  advantage  I 
had  by  it ;  for  my  master,  though  a  very  wealthy 
man,  and  one  who  professed  not  only  friendship  hut 
particuhir  kindness  to  me,  dealt,  I  thought,  hut  hardly 
witli  me.  For  though  he  knew  not  what  I  had  to 
subsist  hy,  he  never  offered  me  a  penny  for  my  work 
till  1  had  done  working  for  him,  and  went,  after  I  was 
released,  to  give  him  a  visit;  and  then  he  would  not 
reckon  with  me  neither,  because,  as  he  smilingly  said, 
he  would  not  let  me  so  far  into  his  trade  as  to  acquaint 
me  with  the  prices  of  the  woi'k,  but  would  be  sure 
to  give  me  enough.  And  thereupon  he  gave  me  one 
crown  piece,  and  no  more ;  though  I  had  wrought 
long  for  him,  and  made  him  many  dozens  of  waist- 
coats, and  bought  the  thread  myself,  which  I  thought 
Avas  very  poor  pay.  lUit,  as  Providence  had  ordered 
it,  I  wanted  the  work  more  than  the  wages,  and  there- 
fore took  what  he  gave  me  without  complaining. 

About  this  time,  while  we  were  prisoners  in  our  fair 
chamber,  a  Friend  was  brought  and  put  in  among  us, 
who  had  been  sent  tiiithcr  by  Richard  Brown,  to  beat 
hemp;  whose  case  was  thus:  Pie  was  a  very  poor 
man,  who  lived  by  mending  shoes;  and  on  a  seventh- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  291 

day  night  late,  a  carman,  or  some  other  such  laboring 
man,  brought  him  a  pair  of  shoes  to  mend,  desiring 
him  to  mend  them  that  night,  that  lie  miglit  have 
them  in  tlie  morning,  fur  he  luid  no  otliers  t<>  wear. 
The  poor  man  sat  up  at  work  upon  tliem  till  after 
midnight,  and  then  finding  he  could  not  finish  them, 
he  went  to  bed,  intending  to  do  the  rest  in  tlie  morning. 
Accordingly  he  got  up  betimes,  and  tliough  he  wrouglit 
as  privately  as  he  couhl  in  his  chamber,  that  he  might 
avoid  giving  oft'ence  to  any,  yet  could  he  not  do  it  so 
privately  but  that  an  ill-natured  neighbor  perceived 
it,  who  went  antl  informed  against  hiin  f(jr  working  on 
the  Sunday.  Whereup(jn  he  was  liad  before  Richard 
BroAvn,  who  committed  him  to  Bridewell  fov  a  certain 
time,  to  be  kept  to  hard  labor  in  beating  hemp,  which 
is  labor  hard  enough. 

It  so  fell  out,  that  at  the  same  time  Avere  committed 
thither  (for  what  cause  I  do  not  now  remember)  two 
lusty  young  men,  who  were  called  Bajjtists,  to  be  kept 
also  at  the  same  labor.  The  Friend  was  a  poor  little 
man,  of  alow  conditinn  and  mean  appearance;  whereas 
these  two  Baptists  were  topping  bhules,  that  looked 
high,  and  spake  big.  They  scorned  to  beat  hemp, 
and  made  a  pish  at  the  whipping-post ;  but  when 
they  had  once  felt  the  smart  of  it,  they  soon  cried 
j)eccavi,  and,  submitting  to  the  punisliment,  set  their 
tender  hands  to  the  beetles.  The  Friend,  on  tlie  other 
hand,  acting  upon  a  principle,  as  knowing  he  had  done 
no  evil  for  wliicli  he  should  undergo  that  punishment, 
refused  to  work,  and  for  refusing  was  cruelly  whipped, 
which  he  bore  with  wonderful  constancy  and  resolution 
of  mind. 

The  manner  of  \vliii)})ing  there  is  to  strip  the  party 
to    the    skin    from     the    waist    upwards,    and    having 


292  THE   LIFE   OF 

fastened  him  to  the  whipping-post,  so  that  he  can 
ucitlier  resist  nor  shun  the  strokes,  to  lash  the  body 
witli  long,  but  slender  twigs  of  holly,  which  wiU  bend 
almost  like  thongs,  and  lap  round  the  Ijody  ;  and  these, 
having  little  knots  upon  them,  tear  the  skin  and  flesh, 
and  give  extreme  pain.  With  these  rods  they  tor- 
mented the  Friend  most  barbarously  ;  and  the  more 
for  that  having  mastered  the  two  braving  Baptists, 
they  disdained  to  be  mastered  by  this  poor  Quaker. 
Yet  were  they  fain  at  last  to  yield,  when  they  saw 
their  utmost  severity  c<->uld  not  make  him  yield.  And 
then,  not  willing  to  be  troubled  hjnger  with  him,  they 
turned  him  up  among  us. 

Whtni  we  had  inquired  of  him  how  it  was  with  him, 
and  he  had  given  us  a  brief  account  of  both  his  cause 
and  usage,  it  came  in  my  mind  that  1  had  in  my  box 
(which  I  had  sent  for  from  my  lodging,  to  keep  some 
few  books  and  other  necessaries  in)  a  little  gallipot 
with  Lucatellu's  balsam  in  it.  Wherefore,  causing  a 
good  fire  to  be  made,  and  setting  the  Friend  within  a 
blanket  bef(jre  the  fire,  we  stripped  him  to  the  waist, 
as  if  he  had  been  to  be  whipped  again ;  and  ftiund  his 
skin  so  cut  and  torn  with  the  knotty  holly  rods,  both 
back,  side,  arm,  and  breast,  that  it  was  a  dismal  sight 
to  look  upon.  Then  melting  some  of  the  balsam,  I, 
with  a  feather,  anointed  all  the  sores,  and,  j)utting  on  a 
softer  cloth  between  his  skin  and  his  shirt,  helped  him 
on  with  his  clothes  again.  This  dressing  gave  him 
much  ease,  and  I  continued  it  till  he  was  weU.  And 
because  he  was  a  very  poor  man,  we  took  him  into  our 
mess,  contriving  that  there  should  always  be  enough 
for  him  as  well  as  for  ourselves.  Thus  he  lived  with 
us  until  the  tinn;  he  Mas  committed  for  was  expired, 
and  then  he  was  released. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  293 

But  we  were  still  continued  prianners  by  an  arl)i- 
trary  power,  not  being  committed  l>y  the  civil  author- 
ity, nor  having  seen  the  face  of  any  civil  masjistrate, 
from  the  day  we  were  thrust  in  here  by  soldiers,  which 
was  the  2()th  day  of  the  eighth  mouth,  to  the  19th  of 
the  tenth  month  following.  On  that  day  we  were  had 
to  the  sessions  at  the  Old  Bailey.  But  not  being 
called  there,  we  were  brought  back  to  Bridewell,  and 
continued  there  to  the  29th  of  the  same  month,  and 
then  we  were  carried  to  the  sessions  again. 

I  expecte<l  I  should  have  been  called  the  first  because 
my  name  was  first  taken  down  ;  but  it  proved  other- 
wise, so  that  I  was  one  of  the  last  that  was  called, 
which  gave  me  the  advantage  of  hearing  the  pleas  of 
the  other  i)ris(iners,  and  discovering  the  temper  of  the 
court.  Tlic  pi-isoners  complained  of  the  illegality  of 
their  imprisonment,  and  desired  to  kn()w  wliat  they 
had  lain  si>  long  in  prismi  for.  The  court  regarded 
nothing  of  that,  and  did  not  stick  to  tell  them  so. 
*'  For,"  said  the  recorder  to  them,  "  if  you  think  you 
have  been  wrongfully  imprisoned,  you  have  your  remedy 
at  law,  and  may  take  it,  if  you  tliiuk  it  worth  your 
vrhile.  The  court,"  said  he,  "  may  send  for  any  man 
out  of  the  street,  and  tender  bim  the  oath  :  so  we  take 
no  notice  how  you  came  hither,  but,  finding  you  here, 
we  tender  you  tlie  oatli  of  allegiance,  which,  if  ycui 
refuse  to  take,  we  shall  commit  you,  aud  at  length 
l)remunire  you."  Accordingly,  as  every  one  refused  it, 
he  was  set  aside  and  another  called. 

By  this  I  saw  it  was  in  vain  for  me  to  insist  upon 
false  hnprisonmeiit,  or  ask  the  cause  of  my  commit- 
ment, tliout;;b  T  had  befoi-e  funiislied  uiyself  witli  some 
authorities  ami  maxims  of  law  on  that  subject,  to  plead, 
if  room  should  be  given  ]  and  I  had  the  book  out  of 


294  THE   LIFE   OF 

which  I  took  them  in  my  bosom  ;  for,  tlie  weather  "being 
cold,  I  wore  a  gown  girt  about  the  middle,  and  had 
put  the  book  within  it.  But  I  now  resolved  to  waive 
all  that  and  insist  ujion  another  plea,  which  just  then 
came  into  my  mind.  As  soon  therefore  as  I  was  called, 
I  stepped  nimbly  to  the  bar,  and  stood  up  ujion  the 
stepping,  that  I  might  the  better  both  hear  and  be 
heard,  and,  laying  my  hands  ujxjn  the  bar,  stood  ready, 
expecting  what  they  would  say  to  me. 

I  supjiose  they  took  me  for  a  confident  young  man, 
for  tliey  kxdved  very  eaniestly  upon  me  ;  and  we  faced 
each  other,  without  words,  for  aAvliile.  At  length  the 
recorder,  who  was  called  Sir  John  Howel,  asked  me  if 
I  would  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  to  which  I  an- 
swered :  "  1  conceive  this  court  hath  not  power  to 
tender  that  oath  to  me,  in  the  condition  Mherein  I 
stand."  Tills  so  unexpected  jilea  seemed  to  startle 
them,  so  that  they  looked  one  upon  another,  and  said 
somewhat  low  one  to  another,  "  Wliat !  doth  he  demur 
to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court'?"  And  thereupon  the 
recorder  asked  me  :  '•  Do  you  then  demur  to  the  juris- 
diction of  the  court?"  "Not  absolutely,"  answered 
I,  "  but  conditionally,  with  resjiect  to  my  present  con- 
dition, and  the  cii'cumstances  I  am  now  mider." 

"  Wliy,  what  is  your  present  condition  "?  "  said  the 
recorder.  "A  prisoner,"  replied  I.  "And  what  is 
that,"  said  he,  "  to  you  taking  or  not  taking  the  oath  "l  " 
"  Enough,"  said  I,  "  as  I  conceive,  to  exempt  me  from 
tlie  tender  thereof,  while  T  am  under  this  condition." 
"  Pray,  wliat  is  your  reason  forthatf  "  said  he.  "  This," 
said  I,  "  that  if  I  rightly  understand  the  words  of  the 
statute,  I  am  rcfpiired  to  say  that  I  do  take  this  oath 
freely  and  without  constraint ;  which  I  cannot  say, 
because  I  am  not  a  free  man,  but  in  bonds,  and  under 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  295 

constraint.  Wherefore  I  conceive,  tliat  if  you  would 
tender  that  oath  to  iiie,  ye  ought  first  to  set  me  free 
from  my  present  imprisonment." 

'^  But,"  said  the  recorder,  ^'will  you  take  the  oath 
if  you  1)6  set  free  f  "  "  Thou  .shalt  see  that,"  said  I, 
"  when  I  am  set  free.  Therefore  set  me  free  first, 
and  then  ask  the  question,"  ''But,"  said  he  again, 
"you  know  your  own  mind,  sure,  aud  can  tell  now 
what  you  would  do  if  you  were  at  liberty."  "  Yes,"  re- 
plied I,  "that  I  can;  but  I  do  not  hold  myself  obliged 
to  tell  it  until  I  am  at  liberty.  Therefore  set  me  at 
liberty,  and  ye  shall  soon  hear  it." 

Thus  we  fenced  a  good  while,  till  I  was  both  weary 
of  such  trifling,  and  doubted  also  lest  some  of  the  stand- 
ers-by  should  suspect  I  would  take  it  if  I  was  set  at 
liberty.  Wherefore,  VA'hen  the  recorder  put  it  ujjou  me 
again,  I  told  him  ^ilainly,  "No;  though  I  thought 
they  ought  not  to  tender  it  me  till  I  had  been  set  at 
liberty,  yet  if  I  was  set  at  liberty  I  could  not  take  the 
oath,  because  my  Lord  and  Master,  Christ  Jesus,  had 
expressly  commanded  his  disciples  not  to  swear  at 
all." 

As  his  command  w\as  enough  to  me,  so  this  confes- 
sion of  mine  was  enough  to  them.  "Take  him  away," 
said  they ;  and  away  I  was  taken,  and  thrust  into  the 
bail-dock  to  my  other  friends,  wlio  had  been  called  be- 
fore me.  And  as  soon  as  the  rest  of  our  company  were 
called,  and  had  refused  to  swear,  we  were  all  cdumiitted 
to  Newgate,  and  thrust  into  tlu^  common  side.  When 
we  came  there,  wo  found  that  side  of  the  prison  very 
full  of  Friends,  who  were  prisoners  there  before  (as 
indeed  were,  at  that  time,  all  the  other  parts  of  that 
prison,  and  niftst  of  the  other  prisons  about  tlie  town), 
and  our  addition  caused  a  great  throng  on  that  slide. 


296  THE  LIFE   OF 

Notwitli standing  whicli,  we  were  kindly  welcomed  by 
our  friends  whom  we  found  there,  and  entertaiued  hy 
them,  as  well  as  their  condition  would  admit,  until  we 
could  get  in  our  own  accommodations,  and  provide  for 
ourselves. 

We  had  the  liberty  of  tlie  hall  (which  is  on  the  first 
story  over  the  gate,  and  which  in  the  daytime  is  com- 
mon to  all  the  prisoners  on  that  side,  felons  as  well  as 
others,  to  walk  in,  and  to  beg  out  of),  and  we  had  also 
the  liberty  of  some  other  rooms  over  that  hall,* to  walk 
or  work  iu  a-days.     But  in  the  night  we  all  lodged  iu 
one  ro<nn,  which  was  large  and  round,  having  in  the 
middle  of  it  a  great  pillar  of  oaken  timber,  whicli  bore 
up  the  chapel  that  is  over  it.     To  this  pillar  we  fas- 
tened our  hammocks  at  the  one  end,  and  to  the  oppo- 
site wall  on  the  other  end,  quite  round  the  room,  and 
iu  three  degrees,  or  three  stories  high,  one  over  the 
other,  so  that  they  who  lay  in  the  upper  and  middle 
row  of  hammocks  were  obliged  to  go  to  bed  first,  be- 
cause they  were  to  climb  up  to  the  higher,  by  getting 
into  the  lower.     And  under  the  lower  rank  of  ham- 
mocks, by  the  wall  sides,  were  laid  beds  upon  the  floor, 
in  which  the  sick,  and  such  weak  persons  as  could  not 
get  into  the  hammocks,  lay.     And,  indeed,  though  the 
room  was  large  and  pretty  airy,  yet  the  breath  and 
steam  that  came  from  so  many  bodies,  of  difi'erent  ages, 
conditions,   and  constitutions,  packed  up  so  close  to- 
gether, was  enough  to  cause  sickness  amongst  us,  and 
I  believe  did  so ;  for  there  were  many  sick,  and  some 
very  weak,  and  though  we  were  not  long  there,  yet  in 
that  time  one  of  our  fellow-prisoners,  who  lay  in  one 
«.if  those  pallet-beds,  died. 

This  caused  some  bustle  iu  the  house.    For  the  body . 
of  the  deceased,  being  laid  out,  and  put  into  a  coifin, 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  297 

was  carried  down  and  set  in  tlie  room  called  the  lodge, 
that  the  coroner  miglit  inquire  into  the  cause  and  man- 
ner of  his  death.  And  the  manner  of  their  doing  it  is 
thus :  As  soon  as  the  coroner  is  come,  the  turnkeys 
run  out  into  the  street  under  the  gate,  and  seize  upon 
every  man  that  passes  by,  till  they  have  got  enough  to 
make  up  the  coroner's  in([uest.  And  so  resolute  these 
rude  fellows  are,  that  if  any  man  resist  or  dispute  it  with 
them  they  drag  him  in  by  main  force,  not  regarding 
what  condition  he  is  of,  Nay,  I  have  T)een  told,  they 
will  not  stick  to  stop  a  coach,  and  pluck  the  men  out 
of  it. 

It  so  happened,  that  at  this  time  they  lighted  on 
an  ancient  man,  a  gi'ave  citizen,  who  was  trudging 
through  the  gate  in  great  haste,  and  him  they  laid 
hold  on,  telling  him  he  must  come  in,  and  serve  upon 
the  coroner's  inquest.  He  pleaded  hard,  begged  and 
besought  them  to  let  him  go,  assuring  them  he  was 
going  on  very  urgent  business,  and  that  the  stopping 
of  him  would  be  greatly  to  his  prejudice.  But  they 
were  deaf  to  all  entreaties,  and  hurried  him  in,  the 
poor  man  chafing  without  remedy.  When  they  had 
got  their  complement,  and  were  shut  in  together,  the 
rest  of  them  said  to  this  ancient  man,  "  Come,  father, 
you  are  the  oldest  among  us,  you  shall  be  our  fore- 
man." And  when  the  coroner  had  sworn  them  on  the 
jury,  the  coffin  was  uncovered  that  they  might  look 
upon  the  body.  But  the  old  man,  disturbed  in  his 
mind  at  the  interruption  they  had  given  him,  was 
grown  somewhat  fretful  upon  it,  and  said  to  them  : 
"  To  wluit  pur])ose  do  you  sliow  us  a  dead  body  here  ? 
You  would  not  have  us  tliink,  sure,  that  this  man  died 
in  this  room  !  How  then  shall  we  be  able  to  judge 
how  this  man  came  by  his  death,  unless  we  see  the 


298  THE   LIFE   OF 

place  \A-horpin  he  died,  aiirl  wherein  he  hath  been  hcpt 
])risoiier  before  he  died  ?  How  kncnA"  we  but  that  the 
incuminodiousiiess  of  the  phice  wherein  lie  was  l^ept 
may  have  occasioned  liis  death  '?  Tlierefore  show  us 
the  phice  wherein  this  man  died." 

This  mucli  disph^ased  the  keepers,  and  they  began  to 
banter  the  ohl  man,  tliinking  to  beat  him  off  it.  But 
he  stood  up  tightly  to  them.  "  Come,  come,"  said  he, 
"though  you  have  made  a  fcjol  of  me  in  bringing  me 
in  hith(>r,  ye  shall  not  find  a  child  of  me  now  I  am 
here.  IMistake  not  yourselves ;  I  understand  my  place, 
and  your  duty  ;  and  I  require  yon  to  conduct  me  and 
my  brethren  to  the  place  where  this  man  died  :  refuse 
it  at  your  peril."  They  iKiw  wished  they  had  let  the  old 
man  go  about  his  T)usiness,  rather  than,  by  troubling 
him,  have  brought  this  trouble  on  themselves.  But 
when  they  saw  he  persisted  in  his  res(dution,  and  was 
peremptory,  the  coroner  told  them  they  must  go  show 
him  the  place. 

It  was  in  the  evening  when  they  began  this  wark  ; 
and  by  this  time  it  was  grown  bedtime  with  tis,  so 
that  we  had  taken  down  our  hammocks,  which  in  the 
day  were  hung  up  by  the  walls,  and  had  made  them 
ready  to  go  into,  and  were  undressing  ourselves  in 
readiness  to  go  into  them  ;  when  on  a  sudden  we  heard 
a  great  noise  of  tongues,  and  of  tramplings  of  feet, 
coming  towards  us.  And  by  and  by  one  of  the  tin-n- 
keys,  opening  our  door,  said  :  "  Hidd,  hold,  do  not  un- 
dress yom-selves  ;  here  is  the  c<ironer's  inquest  coming 
to  see  you."  As  soon  as  they  were  come  to  the  door 
(for  witliin  the  door  there  was  scarcely  room  for  them 
to  come)  the  foreman,  who  led  them,  lifting  up  his 
hand,  said  :  "  Lord  bless  me,  what  a  sight  is  here  !  I 
did  not  think  there  had  been  so  uiuch  cruelty  in  the 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  299 

hearts  of  Englislimen,  to  use  Eiiglishmeu  in  this  man- 
ner !  We  need  not  now  question,"  said  he  to  the  rest 
of  the  jury,  "how  this  man  came  hy  his  death;  we 
may  ratlier  wonder  tliat  tliey  are  not  all  dead  ;  for  this 
phice  is  enough  to  breed  au  infection  among  them. 
Well,"  added  he,  "  if  it  please  God  to  lengthen  my 
life  till  to-morrow,  I  will  liud  means  to  let  the  king 
know  how  his  subjects  are  dealt  with." 

Whether  he  did  so  or  not,  I  cannot  tell;  but  I  am 
apt  to  tliink  he  applied  himself  to  the  mayor  or  the 
sheriffs  of  London.  For  the  next  day,  one  of  the  sheriffs, 
called  Sir  William  Turner,  a  woollen  draper  in  Patd's 
Yard,  came  to  the  press-yard,  and  having  ordered  the 
porter  of  Bridewell  tf)  attend  him  thoic,  sent  up  a  turn- 
key amongst  us  to  bid  all  the  Bridewell  prisoners  come 
down  to  him,  for  they  knew  us  not,  but  we  knew  our 
own  company.  Being  come  before  him  in  the  press- 
yard,  he  looked  kindly  on  us,  and  spake  courteously  to 
us.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  ''  I  understand  the  prison 
is  very  full,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  wish  it  were  in 
my  power  to  release  you  and  the  rest  of  your  friends 
that  are  in  it.  But  since  I  cannot  do  that,  I  am  will- 
ing to  do  what  I  can  for  you.  And  therefore  I  am 
come  hither  to  inquire  how  it  is ;  and  I  would  have  all 
you  who  came  from  Bridewell  return  thither  again, 
which  will  be  a  better  accommodation  to  you ;  and 
your  removal  will  give  the  more  room  to  those  that  are 
left  behind;  and  here  is  the  porter  of  BridcM^ell,  your 
old  keeper,  to  attend  you  thither." 

We  duly  acknowledged  the  favor  of  the  sheriff  to 
us  and  our  friends  above,  in  this  removal  of  us,  which 
would  give  tk(>m  more  room,  and  us  a  better  air.  But 
l)efore  we  parted  from  him,  I  sjialic  particularly  to  liim 
on  another  occasion,  which  was  this  :  Wlien  we  came 


300  THE   LIFE   OF 

into  Newgate  we  found  a  shabby  fellow  there  among 
the  Friends,  who,  upon  inquiry,  wc  understood  had 
thrust  himself  among  our  friends,  when  they  were 
taken  at  a  meeting,  on  purpose  to  be  sent  to  prison 
with  them,  in  hopes  to  be  maintained  by  them.  They 
knew  nothing  of  him  till  they  found  him  shut  in  with 
them  in  the  prison,  and  then  took  no  notice  of  him,  as 
not  knowing  how  or  why  he  came  thither.  But  he 
soon  gave  them  cause  to  take  notice  of  him ;  for 
M'herever  he  saw  any  victuals  brought  forth  for  them 
to  eat,  he  would  be  sure  to  thrust  in,  with  knife  in 
hand,  and  make  himself  his  own  carver ;  and  so  im- 
pudent was  he,  that  if  he  saw  the  provision  was  short, 
whoever  wanted,  he  would  be  sure  to  take  enough. 
Thus  lived  this  lazy  drone  upon  the  labors  of  the  in- 
dustrious bees,  to  his  high  content  and  their  no  small 
trouble,  to  whom  his  company  was  as  offensive  as  his 
ravening  was  oppressive ;  nor  could  they  get  any  relief 
by  their  complaining  of  hhn  to  the  keepers. 

This  fellow,  hearing  the  notice  which  was  given  for 
the  Bridewell  men  to  go  down,  in  order  to  be  removed 
to  Bridewell  again,  and  hoping,  no  doubt,  that  fresh 
quarters  would  produce  fresh  commons,  and  that  he 
should  fare  better  with  us  than  where  he  was,  thrust 
himself  among  us,  and  went  down  int(j  the  press-yard 
with  us ;  which  I  knew  not  till  I  saw  him  standing 
there  with  his  hat  on,  and  looking  as  demurely  as  he 
could,  that  the  sheriff  might  take  him  for  a  Quaker: 
at  the  sight  of  which  my  spirit  was  much  stirred; 
wherefore,  so  soon  as  the  sheriff  had  done  speaking  to 
us,  and  we  had  made  our  acknowledgment  of  his  kind- 
ness, I  stepped  a  little  nearer  to  him,  and  pointing  to 
that  fellow,  said,  *^  That  man  is  not  only  none  of  our 
company,  for  he  is  no  Quaker ;  but  is  an  idle,  dissolute 


THOMAS   ELL  WOOD.  301 

fellow,  who  liath  tlirnst  liimsclf  in  among  our  friends, 
to  be  sent  to  prison  with  them,  tliat  lie  might  live  upon 
the.ii ;  therefore  I  desire  we  may  not  be  troubled  with 
him  at  Bridewell." 

At  this  the  sheriff  smiled ;  and,  calling  the  fellow 
forth,  said  to  him,  "  How  came  you  to  be  in  prison  "S '' 
"  I  was  taken  at  a  meeting,"  said  he.  ''  But  what 
business  had  you  there?"  said  the  sheriff.  "  I  went 
to  hear,"  said  he.  "Aye,  you  went  upon  a  worse 
design,  it  seems,"  replied  the  sheriff;  ''but  I'll  dis- 
appoint you,  for  I  '11  change  your  company,  and  send 
you  to  them  that  are  like  yourself."  Then  calling  for 
the  turnkey,  he  said,  "  Take  this  fellow,  and  put  him 
among  the  felons  ;  and  be  sure  let  him  not  trouble  the 
Quakers  any  more."  Hitherto  this  fellow  had  stood 
with  his  hat  on,  as  willing  to  have  jjassed,  if  he  could, 
for  a  Quaker ;  but  as  soon  as  he  heard  this  doom 
passed  on  him,  off  went  his  hat,  and  to  bowing  and 
scraping  he  fell,  with  "  Good  your  w<irsliip,  have  pity 
upon  me,  and  set  me  at  liberty."  "  No,  no,"  said  the 
sheriff,  ''  I  will  not  so  far  disappoint  you ;  since  you 
had  a  mind  to  be  in  prison,  in  prison  you  shall  be  for 
me."  Then  bidding  the  turnkey  take  him  away,  he 
liad  him  up,  and  put  him  among  the  felons ;  and  so 
Friends  had  a  good  deliverance  from  him. 

The  sheriff  tlien  bidding  us  farewell,  the  porter  of 
Bridewell  came  to  us,  and  told  us  we  knew  our  way  to 
Bridewell  without  him,  and  he  could  trust  us ;  tliere- 
fore  he  would  not  stay  nor  go  with  us,  but  left  us  to 
take  our  own  time,  so  we  were  in  before  bedtime. 
Then  went  we  up  again  to  our  friends  in  Newgate,  and 
gave  them  an  account  of  what  had  passed  ;  and,  having 
taken  a  solemn  leave  of  them,  we  nii.de  up  our  packs 
to  be  gone.     But  before  I  pass  from  Newgate,  I  think 


302  THE   LIFE   OF 

it  not  amiss  to  give  the  reader  some  little  account  of 
what  I  observed  while  I  was  there. 

The  common  side  of  Newgate  is  generally  accounted, 
as  it  really  is,  the  worst  part  of  that  prison ;  not  so 
much  from  the  jdaee,  as  the  people;  it  being  usually 
stocked  with  the  veriest  rogues,  and  meanest  sort  of 
felons  and  pick pochets,  who,  not  being  able  to  pay  cham- 
ber-rent on  tlie  master's  side,  are  thrust  in  there.  And 
if  they  come  in  bad,  to  be  sure  they  do  not  go  out  bet- 
ter; for  here  they  have  an  opportunity  to  instruct  one 
another  in  their  art,  and  impart  to  each  other  what  im- 
provements they  have  made  therein. 

The  common  hall,  which  is  the  first  room  over  the 
gate,  is  a  good  place  to  walk  in  when  the  prisoners  are 
out  of  it,  saving  the  danger  of  catching  some  cattle 
wdiich  they  may  have  left  in  it ;  and  there  I  used  to 
walk  in  a  morning  before  they  were  let  up,  and  some- 
times in  the  daytime  when  they  have  been  there. 

They  all  carried  themselves  respectfully  towards  me, 
which  I  imputed  chiefly  to  this,  that  when  any  of  our 
women  Friends  came  there  to  visit  the  prisoners,  if  they 
had  not  relations  of  their  own  there  to  take  care  of  them, 
I  (as  being  a  young  man,  and  more  at  leisure  than 
most  others,  for  I  could  not  play  the  tailor  there)  was 
forward  to  go  down  with  them  to  the  grate,  and  see 
them  safe  out.  And  sometimes  they  have  left  money 
in  my  hands  for  the  felons  (who  at  such  times  were  very 
importunate  beggars),  which  I  forthwith  distributed 
among  them  in  bread,  wliich  was  to  be  had  in  the 
place.  But  so  troublesome  an  office  it  was,  that  I 
thought  one  had  as  good  have  had  a  pack  of  hungry 
hounds  about  one,  as  these,  when  they  knew  there  was 
a  dole  to  be  given.  Yet  this,  I  think,  made  them  a 
little  the  more  observant  to  me ;  for  they  would  dispose 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  303 


themselves  to  one  side  of  the  room,  that  they  might 
make  way  for  me  to  wallv  on  tlie  other. 

For  liaving,  as  I  hinted  before,  made  up  our  packs, 
and  taken  our  leave  of  our  friends  whom  we  were  to  k'ave 
heliiud,  we  took  our  bundles  on  our  shoulders,  and 
walked,  two  and  two  abreast,  through  the  Old  Bailey 
into  Fleet  Street,  and  so  to  Old  Bridewell.  And  it  be- 
ing about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  the  streets 
pretty  full  of  people,  both  the  shojjkeepers  at  their 
doors,  and  passengers  in  the  way,  would  sttip  us,  and 
ask  us  what  we  were,  and  whither  we  were  going. 
And  when  we  liad  tcdd  them  we  were  prisoners  going 
from  one  prison  to  another,  from  Newgate  to  Bridewell, 
"What!"  said  they,  "  without  a  keeper  f"  "No," 
said  we,  "  for  our  word  which  we  have  given  is  our 
kee2)er."  Some  thereupon  would  advise  us  not  to  go 
to  prison,  but  to  go  home.  But  we  told  them  we  could 
not  do  so;  we  could  suffer  for  our  testimony,  but  could 
not  tly  from  it.  I  do  not  remember  we  had  any  abuse 
offered  us,  but  were  generally  pitied  by  the  people. 

When  we  were  come  to  Bridewell,  we  were  not  put 
up  into  the  great  room  in  wliich  we  had  hoon  before, 
but  into  a  low  room  in  another  fair  court,  which  had  a 
jmmp  in  the  middle  of  it.  And  here  we  were  not  shut 
up  as  before,  but  liad  the  liberty  of  the  court  to  walk  in, 
and  of  the  pump  to  wash  or  drink  at.  And  indeed  we 
might  easily  have  gone  quite  away  if  we  would,  there 
being  a  passage  through  the  court  into  the  street ;  but 
we  were  true  and  steady  prisoners,  and  looked  u])on 
this  liberty  arising  from  their  confidence  in  us,  to  be  a 
kind  of  parole  upon  us  ;  so  that  both  conscience  and 
honor  stood  now  engaged  for  our  true  imprisonment. 

Adjoining  to  this  room  wherein  M'e  were,  was  such 
another,  both    newly    fitted    up    for    workhouses,  and 


o 


04  THE   LIFE   OF 


accordingly  furnished  with  very  great  blocks  for  beat- 
ing lieinp  upon,  and  a  lussty  whipi)ing-j)ost  there  was 
in  each.  And  it  was  said  that  IJichard  Brown  had 
ordered  those  blocks  to  be  provided  for  th(?  Quaiiers  to 
work  on,  resolving  to  try  his  strength  with  us  in  that 
case ;  but  if  that  was  his  purpose,  it  was  overruled,  for 
we  never  had  any  work  ottered  us,  nor  were  we  treated 
after  the  manner  of  those  that  are  to  be  so  used.  Yet 
we  set  ourselves  to  work  on  them;  for,  being  very 
large,  they  served  the  tailors  for  sh(>p-lK>ards,  and  oth- 
ers wrought  upon  tliem  as  they  had  occasion ;  and 
they  served  us  very  well  for  tables  to  eat  on. 

We  had  also,  besides  this  room,  the  use  of  our 
former  chamber  above,  to  go  into  when  we  thought 
fit ;  and  thither  sometimes  I  withdrew  when  I  found 
a  desire  for  retirement  and  privacy,  or  had  something 
on  my  mind  to  write.,  which  could  not  so  well  be  done 
in  comjiany.  And  indeed,  about  this  time,  my  spirit 
was  more  than  ordinaiily  exercised,  though  on  very 
different  subjects.  For,  on  the  one  hand,  the  sense  of 
the  exceeding  love  and  goodness  of  the  Lord  to  me,  in 
liis  gracious  and  tender  dealings  with  me,  did  deeply 
aifect  my  heart,  and  caused  me  to  break  forth  in  a  song 
of  thanksgiving  and  praise  to  him  ;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  a  sense  of  the  profaneness,  debaucheries,  cruel- 
ties, and  t)ther  horrid  impieties  t)f  the  age,  fell  heavy 
on  me,  and  lay  as  a  pressing  weight  upon  my  spirit ; 
and  I  l)reathed  forth  the  fdlowing  hymn  to  God,  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  great  goodness  to  me,  profes- 
sion of  my  grateful  love  to  him,  and  supplication  to 
him  for  the  continuance  of  his  kindness  to  me  in  pre- 
serving me  froui  the  snares  of  the  enemy,  and  keeping 
me  faithful  unto  himself:  — 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  305 

Thee,  thee  alone,  0  God !   I  fear, 

In  thee  do  I  eonfide  ; 
Thy  prcsracc  is  to  me  more  dear 

Than  all  things  else  beside. 

Thy  virtnc,  power,  life,  and  light, 

Which  in  my  heart  do  shine. 
Above  all  things  are  my  delight : 

O,  make  them  always  mine  ! 

Thy  matehless  love  constrains  my  life, 

Thy  life  constrains  my  love. 
To  be  to  thee  as  chaste  a  wife 

As  is  the  tnrtle  dove 

To  her  elect,  espoused  mate, 

Whom  she  will  not  forsake. 
Nor  can  be  brought  to  violate 

The  bond  she  once  did  make. 

Just  so  my  soul  doth  cleave  to  thee. 

As  to  her  only  head. 
With  whom  she  longs  eonjoiu'd  to  be 

In  bond  of  marriage-bed. 

But,  ah,  alas  1  her  little  fort 

Is  compassed  about, 
Ilcr  foes  about  her  thick  resort, 

Within,  and  eke  without. 

IIovv  numerous  are  they  now  grown ! 

How  wicked  their  intent; 
0,  let  thy  mighty  power  be  sliown. 

Their  mischief  to  prevent ! 

They  make  assaults  on  cvciy  side. 
But  thou  stand'st  in  the  gap ; 


306  THE   LIFE   OF 

Their  battering  rams  make  breaches  wide. 
But  still  thou  mak'st  them  up. 

Sometimes  they  use  alluring  wiles, 

To  draw  into  their  power  ; 
And  sometimes  weep  like  crocodiles. 

But  all  is  to  devour. 

Thus  they  beset  my  feeble  heart 

With  fraud,  deceit,  and  guile. 
Alluring  her  from  thee  to  start. 

And  thy  pure  rest  detile. 

But,  oh  !  the  breathing  and  the  moan. 

The  sighings  of  the  seed. 
The  groanings  of  the  grieved  one. 

Do  sorrows  in  me  breed. 

And  that  immortal,  holy  birth. 

The  offspring  of  thy  bieath, 
To  whom  thy  love  brings  life  and  mirth. 

As  doth  thy  absence,  death. 

That  babe,  that  seed,  that  panting  child, 

"Which  cannot  thee  forsake. 
In  fear  to  be  again  beguiled. 

Doth  supplication  make ; 

0,  suffer  not  thy  chosen  one. 
Who  puts  her  trust  in  thee. 
And  hath  made  thee  her  choice  alone. 
Ensnared  again  to  be. 
Bridewell,  London,  1663. 

In  this  sort  did  I  spend  some  leisure  hours  during 
my  confinement  in  Bridewell,  especially  after  our  re- 
turn from  Newgate  thitlier ;  when  we  had  more  liberty, 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  307 

and  more  opportunity,  and  room  for  retirement  and 
thought ;  for,  as  the  poet  said, 

"  Carniina  scribeutes  secessuin  et  otia  quferunt." 

They  who  would  write  in  measure 
Retire  where  they  may  stilhiess  have  and  leisure. 

And  tliis  privilege  we  enjoyed  by  the  indulgence  of 
our  keeper,  whose  heart  God  disjjosed  to  favor  us ; 
so  that  both  the  master  and  his  porter  were  very  civil 
and  kind  to  us,  and  had  been  so  indeed  all  along.  For 
when  we  were  shut  up  before,  the  ])orter  would  readily 
let  some  of  us  go  home  in  an  evening,  and  stay  at 
home  till  next  morning ;  which  was  a  great  conven- 
iency  to  men  of  trade  and  business  ;  which  I,  being  free 
from,  forbore  asking  for  myself,  that  I  might  not 
hinder  others.  This  he  observed,  and  asked  me  when 
I  meant  to  ask  to  go  out.  I  told  him  I  had  not  much 
occasion  nor  desire  ;  yet  at  some  time  or  other,  perhaps 
I  might  have ;  but  when  I  had  I  would  ask  him  but 
once,  and  if  he  then  denied  me  I  would  ask  him  no  more. 

After  we  were  come  back  from  Newgate,  I  had  a 
desire  to  go  thither  again,  to  visit  my  friends  who 
were  prisoners  there,  more  especially  my  dear  friend, 
and  father  in  Christ,  Edward  Burrough,  who  was  then 
a  prisoner,  with  many  Friends  more,  in  that  part  of 
Newgate  whicli  was  then  called  Justice  Hall.  Wliere- 
upon  the  porter  coming  in  my  way,  I  asked  him  to  let 
me  go  out  for  an  hour  or  two,  to  see  some  friends  of 
mine  that  evening.  He,  to  enhance  the  kindness, 
made  it  a  matter  of  some  diificulty,  and  would  have 
me  stay  till  another  night.  I  told  liim  I  would  be  at 
a  word  with  him,  for,  as  I  had  t(dd  him  before  that 
if  he  denied  me  I  would  ask  him  no  more,  so  he 
should  tind  I  would  keep  to  it.     He  was  no  sooner 


o 


08  THE   LIFE   OF 


gone  otit  of  my  sight,  than  I  espied  his  master  cross- 
ing the  court ;  wherefore,  stepping  to  him,  I  asked 
him  if  lie  was  willing  to  let  me  go  out  for  a  little  while, 
to  see  some  friends  of  mine  that  evening.  Yes,  said  he, 
very  willingly ;  and  thereupon  away  walked  I  to  New- 
gate, where  having  spent  the  evening  among  friends, 
I  returned  in  good  time. 

Under  this  easy  restraint  we  lay  until  the  court  sat 
at  the  Old  Bailey  again ;  and  then,  whether  it  was 
that  the  heat  of  the  storm  was  somewhat  abated,  or 
by  what  other  means  Providence  Avrought  it  I  know 
not,  we  were  called  to  the  bar,  and,  without  farther 
question,  discharged.  Whereupon  we  returned  to 
IJridewell  again,  and  having  raised  some  money  among 
us,  and  therewith  gratified  both  the  master  and  his 
porter  for  their  kindness  to  us,  we  spent  some  time  in 
a  solemn  meeting,  to  return  our  thankful  acknowl- 
edgment to  the  Lord,  both  for  his  i)reservation  of  us 
in  prison,  and  deliverance  of  us  out  of  it;  and  then, 
taking  a  solemn  farewell  of  each  other,  we  departed 
Avith  bag  and  baggage.  And  I  took  care  to  return  my 
hammock  to  the  owner,  with  due  acknowledgment  of 
his  great  kindness  in  lending  it  to  me. 

Being  now  at  liberty,  I  visited  more  generally  my 
friends  that  were  still  in  prison,  and  more  particularly 
my  friend  and  benefactor  William  I'enington,  at  his 
house,  and  then  went  to  wait  upon  my  master,  Milton; 
with  whom  yet  I  could  not  propose  to  enter  upon  my 
intermitted  studies,  until  I  had  beenin  Buckingham- 
shire, to  visit  my  worthy  friends  Isaac  Penington  and 
his  virtuous  wife,  and  other  friends  in  that  country. 
TliitlnM",  therefoie,  I  betook  myself,  and  the  weather 
being  frosty,  and  the  ways  by  that  means  clean  and 
good,  1  walked  it  throughout  in  a  day,  and  was  re- 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD.  309 

ceiverl  hj  my  friends  there  with  such  demonstration  of 
hearty  kindness  as  made  my  journey  very  easy  to  me. 

I  had  spent  in  my  iinprisonnient  that  twenty  shil- 
lings which  I  had  received  of  William  Peuington,  and 
twenty  of  the  forty  which  had  been  sent  me  from  Mary 
Penington,  and  had  the  remainder  then  about  me. 
That  therefore  I  now  returned  to  her,  with  due  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  husband's  and  her  great  care  of 
me,  and  liberality  to  me  in  the  time  of  my  need.  Slie 
would  have  had  me  keep  it ;  but  I  begged  of  her  to 
accept  it  from  me  again,  since  it  was  the  redundancy 
of  their  kindness,  and  the  other  part  had  answered  the 
occasion  for  which  it  was  sent ;  and  my  importunity 
prevailed. 

I  intended  only  a  visit  thither,  not  a  continuance ; 
and  therefore  proposed,  after  I  had  stayed  a  few  days,  to 
return  to  my  lodging  and  former  course  in  London ; 
but  Providence  ordered  it  otherwise.  Isaac  Penington 
had  at  that  time  two  sons  and  one  daughter,  all  then 
very  young;  of  whom  the  eldest  son,  John  Penington, 
and  the  daughter,  ]\Iary,  the  wife  of  Daniel  Wharley, 
are  yet  living  at  the  writing  of  this.  And  being  him- 
self both  skilful  and  curious  in  pronunciation,  he  W'as 
very  desirous  to  have  them  well  grounded  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  Englisli  tongue ;  to  which  end  he  had 
sent  for  a  man  out  of  Lancashire,  whom,  upon  inquiry, 
he  had  heard  of,  who  was  undoubtedly  the  most  accu- 
rate English  teacher  that  ever  I  met  with,  or  have 
heard  of.  His  name  was  Richard  Bradley.  But  as  he 
pretended  no  higher  than  the  English  tongue,  and  had 
led  them  by  grammar  rules  to  the  highest  improvement 
they  were  capable  of  in  that,  he  had  taken  his  leave 
of  tliem,  and  was  gone  up  to  London,  to  teach  au 
English  school  of  Friends'  children  there. 


o 


10  THE   LIFE   OF 


Tliis  pnt  iny  friend  to  a  fresh  strait.  He  Tiarl  pniielit 
for  a  new  teacher  to  inv«tnict  his  chihh-en  in  the  Latin 
tongue,  as  the  old  liad  done  in  tlie  EngU.sh,  hut  had 
not  yet  found  one.  Wherefore,  one  evening  as  we  sat 
together  hy  the  fire  in  his  Ledehaniher,  which,  for  want 
of  health,  he  kept,  he  asked  me,  his  wife  being  by,  if 
I  would  be  so  kind  to  him  as  to  stay  awhile  with  hiui 
tUl  he  could  hear  of  such  a  man  as  he  aimed  at,  and  in 
the  mean  time  enter  his  children  in  the  rudiments  of 
the  Latin  tongue. 

This  question  was  not  more  unexpected  than  sur- 
prising to  me  ;  and  the  more,  because  it  seemed  directly 
to  thwart  my  former  pui"pose  and  undertaking  of  endeav- 
oring to  improve  myself,  hy  following  my  studies  with 
my  master,  Milton,  which  this  would  give  at  least  a 
present  diversion  from,  and  fir  how  long  I  could  not 
foresee.  But  the  sense  I  had  of  the  manifold  obliga- 
tions I  lay  under  to  these  worthy  friends  of  mine,  shut 
out  all  reasonings,  and  disposed  my  mind  to  an  abso- 
lute resignation  to  their  desire,  that  I  might  testify  my 
gratitude  by  a  willingness  to  do  them  any  friendly  ser- 
vice that  I  could  be  capable  of. 

And  though  I  questioned  my  ability  to  carry  on  that 
work  to  its  due  height  and  proportion,  yet,  as  that  was 
not  proposed,  but  an  initiation  only,  by  accidence,  into 
grammar,  I  consented  to  the  proposal,  as  a  present  ex- 
jx'dient  till  a  more  qualified  person  should  be  found, 
without  further  treaty,  or  mention  of  tenns  between 
us,  than  that  of  mutual  friendship.  And  to  render 
this  digression  from  my  studies  the  less  uneasy  to  my 
mind,  I  recollected  and  often  thought  of  that  rule  in 

"Qui  ilopot  indoctos,  llcrt  indoctissimns  esset. 
Ipse  brevi  rdiqiiis  doctior  esse  qiieat." 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  311 

He  that  the  imlearn'd  doth  teach,  may  quickly  be 
More  leani'd  thau  they,  though  most  uulearued  fie. 

With  this  consideration  I  undertook  this  province, 
and  left  it  not  until  I  married,  which  was  not  till  the 
year  1601),  near  seven  years  from  the  time  I  came 
thither.  In  which  time,  having  the  use  of  my  friend's 
books,  as  well  as  of  my  own,  I  spent  my  leisure  hours 
much  in  reading,  not  without  some  improvement  to 
myself  in  my  private  studies ;  which,  with  the  good 
success  of  my  labors  bestowed  on  the  children,  and  the 
agreeableness  of  conversation  which  I  found  in  the 
fiimily,  rendered  my  undertaking  more  satisfactory,  and 
my  stay  there  more  easy  to  me. 

But,  alas !  not  many  days,  not  to  say  weeks,  had  I 
been  there,  ere  we  were  almost  overwhelmed  with  sor- 
row for  the  unexpected  loss  of  Edward  Burrough,  who 
was  justly  very  dear  to  us  all.  This  not  only  good, 
but  great  good  man,  by  a  long  and  close  confinement 
in  Newgate,  through  the  cruel  malice  and  malicious 
cruelty  of  Richard  Brown,  was  taken  away  by  hasty 
death,  to  the  unutterable  grief  of  very  many,  and  un- 
speakable loss  to  the  church  of  Christ  in  general. 

The  particular  obligation  I  had  to  him  as  the  im- 
mediate instrument  of  my  convinoement,  and  high 
affection  for  him  resulting  therefrom,  did  so  deeply 
affect  my  mind,  that  it  was  some  pretty  time  before 
my  passion  could  prevail  to  express  itself  in  words  )  so 
true  I  found  that  of  the  tragedian  :  — 

"  Curpe  leves  loquuutur, 
Ingeutes  stupcut." 

Light  griefs  break  forth,  and  easily  get  vent, 
Great  ones  are  through  amazeiiicut  closely  pent. 

At  length  my  Muse,  not  bearing  to  be  any  longer 


o 


12  THE   LIFE   OF 


mute,    bralvc   forth   in   the  following   acrostic,    which 
she  called, 

A  PATHETIC  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THAT  DEAR  AND 
FAITHFUL  SEKVANT  OF  GOD,  EDWARD  BURROUGH,  WHO 
DIED   THE    14tH    OF    12tH    MONTH,    1662. 

And  thus  she  introduceth  it :  — 

How  long  shall  grief  lie  smotlier'd  !  all,  how  long 

Shall  sorrow's  signet  seal  my  silent  tongue  ? 

How  long  shall  sighs  me  suffocate!  and  make 

My  lips  to  quiver,  and  my  heart  to  ache  ? 

How  long  shall  I  with  pain  suppress  my  cries. 

And  seek  for  holes  to  wipe  my  watery  eyes  ? 

Why  may  not  I,  by  sorrow  thus  opprest. 

Pour  forth  my  grief  into  another's  breast  ? 

K  that  be  true  which  once  was  said  by  one. 

That  "he  mourns  truly,  who  doth  mourn  alone,"  * 

Then  may  I  truly  say,  my  grief  is  true. 

Since  it  hath  yet  been  known  to  very  few. 

Nor  is  it  now  my  aim  to  make  it  known 

To  those  to  whom  these  verses  may  be  shown  ; 

But  to  assuage  my  sorrow-swollen  heart, 

"Which  silence  caused  to  taste  so  deep  of  smart. 

This  is  my  end,  that  so  I  may  prevent 

The  vessel's  bursting  by  a  timely  vent. 

"  Qnis  talia  fando 
Tempcrct  a  lachryinis  !  " 

Who  can  forbear,  when  such  things  spoke  he  hears, 
His  grave  to  water  with  a  flood  of  tears  ? 


Echo,  ye  woods  ;  resound,  ye  hollow  places. 
Let  tears  and  paleness  cover  all  men's  faces. 

*  Illc  dulct  vci'c,  qui  sine  teste  dulet. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  313 

Let  groans,  like  claps  of  thunder,  pierce  the  air, 
While  I  the  cause  of  my  just  grief  declare. 
O  that  mine  eyes  could,  like  the  streams  of  Nile, 
O'erflow  their  watery  banks  ;  and  thou,  meanwhile, 
Drink  in  my  trickling  tears,  0  thirsty  ground! 
So  mightst  thou  henceforth  fruitfuller  be  found. 

Lament,  my  soul,  lament,  thy  loss  is  deep, 

And  all  that  Sion  love,  sit  down  and  weep ; 

Mourn,  O  ye  virgins  !  and  let  sorrow  be 

Each  damsel's  dowry,  and  alas !  for  me, 

Ne'er  let  my  sobs  and  sighings  have  an  end. 

Till  I  again  embrace  ni'  ascended  friend ; 

And  till  I  feel  the  virtue  of  his  life 

To  consolate  me,  and  repress  my  grief : 

Infuse  into  my  heart  the  oil  of  gladness 

Once  more,  and  by  its  strength,  remove  that  sadness 

Now  pressing  down  my  spirit,  and  restore 

Fully  that  joy  I  had  in  him  before. 

Of  whom  a  word  I  fain  would  stammer  forth. 

Rather  to  ease  my  heart,  than  shovi'  his  worth  : 

His  worth,  my  grief,  which  words  too  shallow  are 

In  demonstration  fully  to  declare. 

Sighs,  sobs,  my  best  interpreters  now  are. 

Envy,  begone !  Black  Monms,  quit  the  place  ! 
Ne'er  more,  Zoilus,  show  thy  wrinkled  face ! 
Draw  near,  ye  bleeding  hearts,  whose  sorrows  are 
Equal  with  mine;  in  him  ye  had  like  share. 
Add  all  your  losses  up,  and  yc  shall  see 
Remainder  will  be  nought  but  woe  is  me. 
Endeared  lambs,  ye  that  have  the  white  stone. 
Do  know  full  well  his  name,  it  is  your  own. 

Eterniti/.'d  be  Ihat  right  wortliy  name. 
Death  hatii  but  kill'd  his  body,  not  his  fame. 


314  THE  LIFE   OF 

Which  in  its  brightness  shall  forever  dwell. 
And,  like  a  box  of  ointment,  sweetly  smell. 
Ilighteousness  was  his  robe;  bright  majesty 
Deck'd  his  brow ;  his  look  was  heavenly. 

Bold  was  he  in  his  Master's  quarrel,  and 
Undaunted;  faithful  to  his  Lord's  command. 
Requiting  good  for  ill ;  directing  all 
Right  in  the  way  that  leads  out  of  the  fall. 
Open  and  free  to  ev'ry  thirsty  lamb  ; 
Unspotted,  pure,  clean,  holy,  without  blame. 
Glory,  light,  splendor,  lustre,  was  his  crown, 
Happy  his  change  to  him ;  —  the  loss  our  own. 


Ilnica  post  cincres  virtus  veneranda  beatos 

Efficit. 

Virtue  alone,  which  reverence  ought  to  have, 

Doth  make  men  happy,  e'en  beyond  the  grave. 


While  I  had  thus  been  breathing  forth  my  grief. 
In  hopes  thereby  to  get  nic  some  i-elief, 
I  heard,  met  bought,  his  voice  say,  "  Cease  to  mourn, 
I  live  ;  and  though  the  veil  of  flesh  once  worn 
Be  now  stript  off,  dissolv'd,  and  laid  aside, 
My  spirit 's  with  thee,  and  shall  so  abide." 
This  satisfied  me  ;  down  I  threw  my  quill. 
Willing  to  be  resign'd  fo  God's  pure  will. 

Havinc:  discharged  this  duty  to  the  memory  of  my 
deceased  friend,  I  went  on  in  my  new  province,  in- 
structing my  little  pupils  in  the  rudiments  of  the  Latin 
tongue,  to  the  mutual  satisftiction  of  both  their  parents 
and  myself  As  sr)on  as  I  had  gotten  a  little  money  in 
my  pocket,  which,  as  a  premium  without  compact,  I 
received  from  them,  I  took  the  first  o)>portunity  to  re- 
turn to  my  friend  William  Penington  the  money  which 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  315 

he  had  so  kindly  furnished  me  with  in  my  need,  at  the 
time  of  my  imprisonment  in  Bridewell,  with  a  due  ac- 
kuowledsjinent  of  my  obligation  to  him  for  it.  He  was 
not  at  all  forward  to  receive  it,  so  that  I  was  fain  to 
press  it  upon  him. 

While  thus  T  remained  in  this  family,  various  sus- 
picions arose  in  the  minds  of  some  concerning  me,  witli 
respect  to  Mary  Penington's  fair  daughter  Guli.  For 
she  having  now  arrived  to  a  marriageable  age,  and 
being  in  all  respects  a  very  desirable  woman,  whether 
regard  was  had  to  her  outward  person,  which  wanted 
nothing  to  render  her  completely  comely ;  or  to  tlie 
endowments  of  her  mind,  which  were  every  way  ex- 
traordinary, and  highly  obliging;  or  to  her  outward 
fortune,  which  was  fair,  and  which  with  some  hath  not 
the  last,  nor  the  least  place  inonsideration,  — she  was 
openly  and  secretly  souglit,  and  solicited  by  many,  and 
some  of  them  almost  of  every  rank  and  condition ;  good 
and  bad,  rich  and  poor,  friend  and  foe.  To  whom,  in 
their  respective  turns,  till  he  at  length  came  for  whom 
she  was  reserved,  she  carried  herself  with  so  much 
evenness  of  temper,  such  courteous  freedom,  guarded 
with  the  strictest  modesty,  that,  as  it  gave  encourage- 
ment or  ground  of  hopes  to  none,  so  neither  did  it  ad- 
minister any  matter  of  oflfeuce  or  just  cause  of  com- 
plaint to  any. 

But  such  as  were  thus  either  engaged  for  themselves, 
or  desirous  to  make  themselves  advocates  for  others, 
could  not,  I  observed,  but  look  upon  me  with  an  eye  of 
jealousy  and  fear,  that  I  would  improve  the  oppor- 
tunities I  had,  by  frequent  and  familiar  conversation 
with  her,  to  my  own  advantage,  in  working  myself  into 
her  good  opinion  and  favor,  to  the  ruin  of  tlieir  pre- 
tences.    According,  therefore,  to  the  several  kinds  and 


o 


16  THE   LIFE   OF 


degrees  of  their  fears  of  me,  they  suggested  to  her 
parents  their  ill  surmises  against  me. 

Some  stuck  not  to  question  the  sincerity  of  my  in- 
tentions in  coming  at  first  among  the  Quakers,  urging, 
with  a  "Why  may  it  not  be  so  ?  "  that  the  desire  and 
hopes  of  obtaining  by  that  means  so  fair  a  fortune, 
might  be  the  prime  and  chief  inducement  to  me  to 
thrust  myself  amongst  that  people.  But  this  surmise 
could  find  no  place  with  those  worthy  friends  of  mine, 
her  father-in-law  and  her  mother,  who,  besides  the 
clear  sense  and  sound  judgment  they  had  in  themselves, 
knew  very  well  upon  what  terms  I  came  among  them  ; 
how  strait  and  hard  the  passage  was  to  me ;  how  con- 
trary to  all  worldly  interest,  which  lay  fair  another 
way  ;  how  much  I  had  suffered  from  my  father  for  it ; 
and  how  regardless  I  had  been  of  attempting  or  seeking 
anything  of  that  nature  in  these  three  or  four  years  I 
had  been  amongst  them. 

Some  others,  measuring  me  by  the  propensity  of 
their  own  inclinations,  conchuled  I  would  steal  her,  run 
away  with  her,  and  marry  her ;  which  they  thought  I 
might  be  the  more  easily  induced  to  do,  from  the  ad- 
vantageous opportunities  I  frequently  had  of  riding  and 
walking  abroad  with  her,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day, 
without  any  other  corniiany  than  her  maid.  For  so 
great  indeed  was  the  confidence  that  her  mother  had 
in  me,  that  she  thought  her  daughter  safe  if  I  was  with 
her,  even  from  the  plots  and  designs  that  others  had 
upon  her.  And  so  honorable  were  the  thoughts  she 
entertained  concerning  me,  as  would  not  suffer  her  to 
admit  a  suspicion  that  I  could  be  capable  of  so  much 
baseness  as  to  betray  the  trust  she,  with  so  great 
freedom,  reposed  in  me. 

I  was  not  ignorant  of  the  various  fears  which  filled 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  317 

the  joalous  heads  of  some  concerning  mo,  neither  was 
I  so  stupid,  nor  so  divested  of  all  humanity,  as  not  to 
be  sensible  of  tlie  real  and  innate  worth  and  virtue 
which  adorned  tliat  excelh'nt  dame,  and  attraeted  tlie 
eyes  and  hearts  of  so  many  with  the  greatest  impor- 
tunity to  seek  and  solicit  her.  But  the  force  of  truth 
and  sense  of  honor  suppressed  whatever  would  have 
risen  beyond  the  bounds  of  fair  and  virtuous  friendship. 
For  I  easily  foresaw,  that  if  I  should  attempt  anything 
in  a  dishonorable  way,  by  force  or  fraud  upon  her,  I 
should  thereby  bring  a  wound  upon  mine  own  soul,  a 
foul  scandal  upon  my  religious  profession,  and  an  iu- 
iitmous  stain  upon  mine  honor ;  either  of  which  was 
far  more  ilear  unto  me  than  my  life.  Wherefore,  hav- 
ing observed  how  some  others  had  befooled  themselves, 
by  misconstruing  her  common  kindness,  expressed  in 
an  innocent,  open,  free,  and  familiar  conversation, 
springing  from  the  abundant  afi'ability,  courtesy,  and 
sweetness  of  her  natural  temper,  to  be  the  eflect  of  a 
singular  regard  and  peculiar  affection  to  them,  I  re- 
solved to  shun  the  rock  on  whicb  I  h:id  seen  so  many 
run  and  split ;  and  remembering   that  saying  of  the 

poet, 

"  Felix  quern  faciunt  alieua  pericula  cautum,"  — 

Happy  's  he, 
Whom  others'  dangers  wary  make  to  be, — 

I  governed  myself  in  a  free  yet  respectful  carriage  to- 
wards her,  that  I  tliereby  preserved  a  fair  rejiutation 
with  ray  friends,  and  enjoyed  as  much  of  lier  favor  and 
kindness,  in  a  virtuous  and  finn  friendsliip,  as  was  lit 
f  )r  lier  to  sliow,  or  for  me  to  seek. 

About  this  time,    my   fatlier,   resolving   to   sell    liis 
estate,  and  having  reserved  for  his  own  use  such  parts 


318  THE   LIFE   OF 

of  liis  houseliold  goods  as  he  thonglit  fit,  not  willing 
to  take  upon  himself  the  trouble  of  selling  the  rest, 
gave  them  unto  me :  whereupon  I  went  down  to  Cro- 
wcll,  and,  having  before  given  n<(tic'e  there  and  there- 
abouts that  I  intended  a  public  sale  of  them,  I  sold 
them,  and  therel)y  put  some  money  into  my  pocket. 
Yet  I  Sold  such  things  only  as  I  judged  useful;  leav- 
ing the  pictures  and  armor,  of  which  there  was  some 
store  there,  unsold. 

Not  long  after  this  my  father  sent  for  me  to  come  to 
him  at  Loudon  about  some  business ;  which,  when  I 
came  there,  I  understood  was  to  .j(nn  with  him  in  the 
sale  of  his  estate,  which  the  purchaser  required  for  his 
own  satisfiiction  and  safety,  I  being  then  the  next  heir 
to  it  in  law.  And  although  I  might  probably  have 
made  some  advantageous  terms  for  myself  by  standing 
off,  yet  when  I  was  satisfied  by  counsel  that  there  was 
no  entail  upon  it,  or  right  of  reversion  to  me,  but  that 
he  might  lawfully  dispose  of  it  as  he  pleased,  I  readily 
joined  with  him  in  the  sale,  without  asking  or  having 
the  least  gratuity  or  compensation ;  no,  not  so  much 
as  the  fee  I  had  given  to  counsel,  to  secure  me  from 
any  danger  in  doing  it. 

There  having  been  some  time  before  this  a  very 
severe  law  made  against  the  Quakers  by  name,  and 
more  particularly  prohibiting  our  meetings  under  the 
sharj)est  penalties,  of  five  pounds  for  the  first  offence, 
so  called,  ten  pounds  for  the  second,  and  banishment 
for  the  third,  under  pain  of  felony  for  escaping  or  re- 
turning without  license,  which  law  was  looked  upon 
to  have  been  procured  by  the  bishops,  in  order  to  bring 
us  to  a  conformity  to  their  way  of  worship,  I  wrote  a 
few  lines  in  way  of  diah)gue  between  a  Bishop  and  a 
Quaker,  which  I  called 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  319 


CONFORMITY   PRESSED   AND   REPRESSED. 

B.  What !     You  arc  one  of  them  that  do  deny 
To  vicld  obedience  by  conformity. 

Q.  Nay  :  we  desire  couforniable  to  be. 

B.  But  unto  what?     Q.  "The  image  of  the  Son." 

B.  What 's  that  to  us  !  we  '11  have  conformity 
Unto  our  form.     Q.  Then  we  shall  ne'er  have  done  ; 
For,  if  your  fickle  minds  should  alter,  we 
Should  be  to  seek  a  new  conformity. 
Thus  who  to-diy  conform  to  prelacy, 
To-moiTow  may  conform  to  popery. 
But  take  this  for  an  answer,  bishop,  we 
Cannot  conform  either  to  them  or  thee. 
For  while  to  truth  your  forms  are  opposite. 
Whoe'er  conforms  thereto  doth  not  aright. 

B.  We  '11  make  such  knaves  as  you  conform,  or  lie 
Confined  in  prison  till  ye  rot  and  die. 

Q.  Well,  gentle  bishop,  I  may  live  to  see. 
For  all  thy  threats,  a  check  to  cruelty ; 
But,  in  the  mean  \'m\e,  I,  for  my  defence, 
Bt;takc  me  to  my  fortress,  patience. 

Althdugli  the  storm  raised  by  the  act  for  banishment 
fell  ^^•itll  tlie  greatest  weight  and  force  upon  some  other 
})art8,  as  at  I^oudoii,  Hertford,  etc.,  yet  we  wore  not  in 
Buckiugliamsliire  wholly  exempted  therefrom,  for  a 
part  of  that  shower  reached  ns  also.  For  a  Friend  of 
Amersham,  wliose  name  was  PZdward  Perot,  or  Parret, 
departing  this  life,  and  notice  being  given  that  his  body 
would  be  buried  there  on  such  a  day,  which  was  the 
first  day  of  the  fifth  month,  10(3.'),  the  Friends  of  the 
adjacent  parts  of  tlie  country  resorted  j)retty  generally 
to  the  burial;  so  that  there  was  a  fair  ajijjearance  of 
Friends  and  neighbors,  the  deceased  having  been  well- 


320  THE   LIFE   OF 

beloved  hy  both.  After  we  had  spent  some  thnc  to- 
gether in  the  house,  Morgan  Watkins,  who  at  that  time 
happened  to  he  at  Isaac  Penington's,  being  Avith  ns,  the 
body  was  taken  up  and  borne  on  Friends'  shouhlers 
along  the  street,  in  t)rder  to  be  carried  to  the  burying- 
ground,  which  was  at  the  town's  end,  being  jiart  of  an 
orchard  belonging  to  the  deceased,  which  he  in  his  life- 
time had  appointed  for  that  service. 

It  so  happened  that  one  Ambrose  Bennet,  a  banister 
at  law,  and  a  justice  of  the  peace  for  that  county,  riding 
through  the  town  that  morning  in  his  way  to  Ayles- 
bury, was,  by  some  ill-disposed  person  or  other,  in- 
formed that  there  was  a  Quaker  to  be  buried  there  that 
day,  and  that  most  of  the  Quakers  in  the  country  were 
come  thither  to  the  burial.  Ujion  this  he  set  up  his 
horses  and  stayed ;  and  when  we,  not  knowing  anything 
of  his  design  against  vis,  went  innocently  forward  to 
perform  our  Christian  duty  for  the  interment  of  our 
friend,  he  rushed  out  of  his  inn  upon  us,  with  the  con- 
stables and  a  rabble  of  rude  fellows  whom  he  had 
gathered  together,  and,  having  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
haiid,  struck  one  of  the  foremost  of  the  bearers  with  it, 
commanding  tliem  to  set  down  the  coffin.  But  tbe 
Friend  who  was  so  stricken,  whose  name  was  Thomas 
Dell,  being  more  concerned  i'or  the  safety  of  the  dead 
body  than  his  own,  lest  it  should  fall  from  his  shoulder, 
and  any  indecency  thereupon  follow,  held  the  coffin  fast ; 
wliich  the  justice  observing,  and  being  enraged  that  bis 
word,  how  unjust  soever,  was  not  forthwith  obeyed,  set 
his  hand  to  the  coffin,  and  with  a  forcible  thrust  threw 
it  off  from  the  bearers'  shoulders,  so  that  it  fell  to  the 
ground  in  the  midst  of  the  street ;  and  there  we  were 
forced  to  leave  it :  f  >r  immediately  thereupon  the  justice 
giving  command  for  apprehending  us,  the  constables 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  321 

with,  the  raT)ble  fell  on  us,  and  drow  some,  and  drove 
others  into  the  inn,  giving  thereby  an  opportunity  to 
the  rest  to  wallc  a\A-ay. 

Of  those  that  Avcre  thus  taken  I  was  cme  ;  and  being, 
with  many  more,  put  into  a  room  under  a  guard,  we 
were  kept  thei-e  till  another  justice,  called  Sir  Thomas 
Clayton,  Avhom  Justice  Benuet  had  sent  for  to  join  with 
him  in  committing  us,  was  come.  And  then,  being  called 
forth  severally  before  them,  they  picked  out  ten  of  us,  and 
committed  us  to  Aylesbury  jail,  for  wliat  neither  we  nor 
they  knew  :  for  we  were  not  cijnvicted  of  having  either 
done  or  said  anything  which  the  law  could  take  hold  of; 
f.)r  they  took  us  up  in  an  open  street,  the  king's  high- 
Avay,  not  doing  any  unlawful  act,  but  i)eacea1dy  carrying 
and  accompanying  tlie  corpse  of  our  deceased  friend, 
to  bury  it  :  Mliich  they  would  not  sutler  us  to  do,  but 
caused  the  body  to  lie  in  the  open  street  and  in  the 
cartway  ;  so  that  all  the  travellers  that  passed  by, 
whether  horsemen,  coaches,  carts,  or  Avagons,  were 
fain  t  >  break  out  of  tlie  way  to  go  by  it,  that  they 
might  not  drive  over  it,  until  it  was  almost  night. 
And  then,  having  caused  a  grave  to  be  made  in  the 
imconsecrated  part,  as  it  is  accounted,  of  that  which  is 
called  the  churchyard,  they  f(n-cibly  took  the  l)ody  from 
the  widow,  whose  right  and  property  it  was,  and  buried 
it  there. 

When  the  justices  had  delivered  us  prisoners  to  the 
constable,  it  being  then  late  in  the  day,  which  was  the 
seventh  day  <^)f  the  week,  he,  not  willing  to  go  so  far 
as  Aylesbury  (nine  long  miles)  with  us  that  night,  nor 
to  put  the  town  to  the  charge  of  keeping  us  there  that 
night  and  the  first  day  and  night  following,  dismissed 
us  upon  our  ]>arole  to  come  to  him  again  at  a  set  hour 
on  the  second-day  morning  :  whereupon  we  all  went 


322  THE   LIFE   OF 

home  to  oni-  respective  habitations  ;  and,  coming  to  him 
punctvuilly  acccjrding  to  promise,  were  by  hiin,  without 
guard,  conducted  to  the  prison. 

The  jailer,  whose  name  was  Natlianiel  liirch,  hatl 
not  h)ng  before  behaved  himself  very  wickedly,  with 
great  rudeness  and  cruelty  to  some  of  our  friends  of  the 
lower  side  of  the  county,  whom  he,  combining  with  the 
clerk  of  the  peace,  whose  name  was  Henry  Wells,  had 
contrived  to  get  into  his  jail;  and  after  they  were 
legally  discharged  in  court,  detained  them  in  prison  ; 
using  great  violence,  and  shutting  tliem  up  close  in  the 
connnon  jail  among  tlie  fehnis,  because  they  would  not 
give  him  his  unrighteous  demand  of  fees  ;  which  they 
were  the  more  straitened  in,  from  his  treacherous 
dealing  with  them.  And  they  having,  through  suf- 
fci-ing,  maintained  their  freedom,  and  obtained  their 
lilierty,  we  were  the  more  concerned  to  keep  wliat  they 
had  so  hardly  gained,  and  llierefore  resolved  not  to 
make  any  contract  or  terms  for  either  chamber-rent  or 
fees,  but  to  demand  a  free  prison,  wliich  we  did. 

Wlien  we  came  in,  the  jailer  was  ridden  out  to  wait 
on  the  judges,  wlio  came  in  that  day  to  begin  the  assize, 
and  liis  wife  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  how  to  deal  witli 
us;  but,  being  a  cunning  woman,  she  treated  us  witli 
great  appearance  of  courtesy,  offering  us  the  choice  of 
all  her  rooms  ;  and  when  we  asked  upon  what  terms, 
she  still  referred  us  to  lier  husband  ;  telling  us  she  did 
not  doubt  but  that  he  M'ould  be  very  reasonable  and 
civil  to  us.  Thus  she  endi'avored  to  draw  us  to  take 
possession  of  some  of  her  chambers  at  a  venture,  and 
trust  to  her  husband's  kind  usage.  But  we,  who,  at 
the  cost  of  our  friends,  had  a  proof  of  his  kindness, 
■were  too  Avary  to  be  dniwu  in  by  the  fair  words  of  a 
llierefore   told   her  we  would  not  settle 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  323 

anywhere  till  her  husband  came  home,  and  then  would 
have  a  free  prison,  wlieresoever  he  put  us.  Accord- 
ingly, walking  all  together  into  the  court  of  the  prison, 
in  which  was  a  well  of  very  good  water,  and  having 
beforehand  sent  to  a  Friend  in  the  town,  a  widow 
woman,  whose  name  was  Sarah  Lambarn,  to  bring  us 
some  bread  and  cheese,  Ave  sat  down  ni)on  the  ground 
round  about  the  well,  and  when  we  had  eaten,  we 
drank  of  the  water  out  of  the  well.  Our  great  concern 
was  for  our  friend  Isaac  Penington,  because  oi  the 
tenderness  of  his  constitution;  but  he  was  so  lively  in 
his  spirit,  and  so  cheerfully  given  up  to  suffer,  that  h(; 
rather  encouraged  us  than  needed  any  encoui'agement 
from  us. 

In  this  posture  the  jailer,  when  ho  came  home, 
f>)und  us,  and  having  before  he  came  to  us  consulted 
his  wife,  and  by  her  understood  on  what  terms  we 
stood,  when  he  came  to  us  he  hid  liis  teeth,  and,  put- 
ting on  a  show  of  kindness,  seemed  much  troubled 
that  we  should  sit  there  abroad,  especially  his  old  friend 
Mr.  Penington  ;  and  thereupon  invited  us  to  come  in, 
and  take  what  rooms  in  his  house  we  pleased.  We 
asked  upon  what  terms ;  letting  him  know  withal  that 
we  determined  to  have  a  free  prison.  He,  like  the  sini 
and  wind  in  the  fable,  that  strove  which  of  them  should 
lake  from  tlie  traveller  his  cloak,  having,  like  the 
wind,  tried  rough,  boisterous,  vi(dent  means  to  our 
friends  before,  but  in  vain,  rescdved  now  to  imitate  the 
sun,  and  shine  as  pleasantly  as  he  could  upon  us  ; 
wherefore  he  told  us  we  should  make  the  terms  our- 
selves, and  be  as  free  as  we  desired  :  if  we  thought  fit, 
w/ien  we  were  released,  to  give  him  anything,  he 
would  thank  us  for  it;  and  if  not,  he  would  demand 
nothing.     Upon  these  terms  we  went  in  and  disposed 


o 


24  THE   LIFE    OF 


oursf'lvos,  soino  in  tlie  dwelling-house,  others  in  the 
ni;ilt-li(»use,  where  they  cliose  to  he. 

During  the  assize  we  w«'re  hrouglit  heforc  Judge 
Morton,  a  sour,  angry  man,  who  very  rudely  reviled 
us ;  but  would  not  hear  either  us  or  the  cause,  but 
referred  the  matter  to  the  two  justices  who  had  com- 
mitted us.  They,  when  the  assize  was  ended,  sent 
for  us  to  be  In'ouglit  before  them  at  their  inn,  and  fined 
us,  as  I  renunnher,  six  shillings  and  eightpence  apiece; 
which  we  not  consenting  to  pay,  they  committed  us  to 
prison  again  for  one  month  from  that  time,  on  the  act 
for  banishment. 

Wlien  we  had  lain  there  that  month,  I,  with  another, 
went  to  the  jailer  to  demand  our  liberty,  which  he 
readily  granted,  telling  us  the  door  should  be  opened 
when  we  pleased  to  go.  This  ausvver  of  his  I  reported 
to  the  rest  of  my  friends  there,  and  tliereupon  we 
realized  among  us  a  small  sum  of  money,  which  they 
put  into  my  hand  for  the  jailer;  whereupon  I,  taking 
another  with  me,  went  to  tlie  jailer  with  the  money 
in  my  hand,  and  reminding  him  of  the  terms  upon 
which  we  accepted  the  use  of  his  rooms,  I  told  him 
that  although  we  could  not  pay  chamber  rent  or  fees, 
yet,  inasmuch  as  he  liad  now  been  civil  to  us,  we  were 
willing  to  aekuowledge  it  by  a  small  token,  and  there- 
uptm  gave  hhn  the  money.  He,  putting  it  into  his 
pocket,  said,  *'  I  thank  you  and  your  friends  for  it ;  and 
to  let  you  see  I  take  it  as  a  gift,  not  a  debt,  I  will  not 
look  on  it  to  see  how  much  it  is." 

The  prison  door  being  then  set  ojien  for  us,  we  went 
f)Ut,  and  departed  to  our  resi)ective  homes.  But  l)efore 
I  left  the  prison,  considering  one  day  with  myself  the 
different  kinds  of  liberty  and  confinement,  freedom  and 
bondage,  I  took  my  jien  and  wrote  the  following 
enigma  or  riddle  :  — 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  325 

Lo  !  hiTe  a  ridJle  to  the  wise, 
In  which  a  mystery  there  lies ; 
Read  it  therefore  with  that  eye 
Whieh  eaii  discern  a  mystery. 

THE    RIDDLE. 

Some  men  are  free,  while  they  in  prison  lie; 
Others,  who  ne'er  saw  prison,  captives  die. 

CAUTION. 

lie  tint  can  receive  it  may; 
IIj  tliat  cannot,  let  him  say. 
And  not  he  hasty,  bnt  suspend 
His  jndgnuut  till  he  sees  the  end. 

SOLUTION. 

He  only  's  free  indeed,  that 's  free  from  sin, 
And  he  is  fastest  bound,  that 's  bound  therein. 

CONCLUSION. 

This  is  the  liberty  I  (;biefly  prize; 
The  other,  without  this,  I  can  despise. 

Some  little  time  before  I  went  to  Aylesbury  prison 
I  was  desired  by  my  quondam  master,  Milton,  to  take 
a  house  for  him  in  the  neighborhood  where  I  dwelt, 
that  he  miuht  t,ni  out  of  the  city  for  tlie  safety  of  him- 
self and  his  family,  the  pestilence  then  growing  hot  in 
London.  I  took  a  pretty  box  for  him  in  Giles  Chal- 
font,  a  mile  from  me,  of  which  I  gave  him  notice,  and 
intended  to  wait  on  him  and  see  him  well  settled  in  it, 
but  was  prevented  by  tliat  imprisonment.  Hut  now 
being  released,  and  retuincd  juimc,  I  soon  made  a  visit 
to  him,  to  welcome  h.im  into  the  CDinitry.  After  si>iiu> 
common  discourses  had  passed  Ix'tween  us,  he  called 
for  a  manuscript  of  his ;  which,  being  brought,  he  de- 


326  THE  LIFE   OF 

livorcd  to  mo,  liidding  me  talvc  it  home  with  mc  and 
read  it  at  my  leisure;  and  when  I  had  so  done,  return 
it  to  him  witli  my  judgment  thereupon. 

Wlien  I  came  home,  and  had  set  myself  to  read  it, 
I  found  it  was  that  excellent  poem  which  he  entith'd 
"  Paradise  Lost."     After  I  had,  with  the  hest  atten- 
tion, read   it  through,  I  made  him  another  visit,  and 
returned  him  his  book,  with  due  acknowledgment  of 
the  favor  he  had  done  me  in  connnimicating  it  to  me. 
lie  asked  mc  how  I  liked  it,  and  what  I  thought  of  it, 
wliich  I  modestly  hut  freely  told  him ;  and  after  some 
farther  discourse  ahout  it,  I  pleasantly  said  to  him, 
"  Thou  hast  said  much  here  of  Paradise  Loi^t,  hut  what 
hast  thou  to  say  of  Paradise  Found  f  "     He  made  niQ 
no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse ;  then  brake 
otf  tliat  discourse  and  fell  upon  another  subject.     After 
the  sickness  was  over  and  the  city  well  cleansed,  and 
become   safely  habitable   again,  he  returned  thither. 
And  when  afterwards   I  went  to  wait  on  him  there, 
wliich  I  seldom  failed  of  doing  whenever  my  occasions 
drew  me  to  London,  he  showed  me  his  second  poem, 
called  "  Paradis((  Kegained,"  and  in  a  pleasant  tone 
said  to  me,  "  This  is  owing  to  you,  for  you  put  it  into 
my  head  by  the  question  you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont, 
which  before  I  had  not  thouglit  of."      But  from  this 
digression  I  return  to  the  family  I  then  lived  in. 

We  liad  not  been  long  at  home,  about  a  month  per- 
haps, before  Isaac  Penington  was  taken  out  of  his 
house  in  an  arbitrary  manner,  by  military  force,  and 
carried  prisoner  to  Aylesbury  jail  again,  where  he  lay 
three  quarters  of  a  year,  with  great  hazard  of  his  life, 
it  being  the  sickness  year,  an<l  the  plague  being  not 
only  in  the  town  but  in  the  jail. 

Meanwhile  his  wife  and  family  were  turned  out  of 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  327 

his  liouse,  called  the  Grange,  at  Peter's  Chalfont,  by 
thcia  wlio  had  seized  upon  liis  estate  ;  and  the  family 
being  by  tliat  means  brolven  \\p,  some  went  one  way, 
others  another.  Mary  Peniiigton  herself,  Avith  her 
younger  children,  went  down  to  her  husband  at  Ayles- 
bury. Guli,  with  her  maid,  went  to  Bristol,  to  visit 
her  former  maid  Anne  Hersent,  who  was  married  to  a 
merchant  of  that  city,  whose  name  was  Thomas  IJiss  ; 
and  I  went  to  Aylesbury  M'ith  the  children  ;  but  not 
finding  the  place  agreealde  to  my  health,  I  soon  left 
it,  and  returning  to  Chalfont  took  a  lodging,  and  was 
dieted  in  the  house  of  a  friendly  man  ;  and  after  some 
time  went  to  Bristol,  to  conduct  Guli  home.  Mean- 
while Mary  Penington  took  lodgings  in  a  farmhouse 
called  Bottrels,  in  the  parish  of  Giles  Chalfont,  where, 
wlien  we  returned  from  Bristol,  we  found  lier. 

We  had  been  there  but  a  very  little  time  before  I 
was  sent  to  prison  again,  upon  this  occasion :  there 
was  in  those  times  a  meeting  once  a  month  at  the 
house  of  George  Salter,  a  Friend,  of  Hedgerley,  to 
which  we  sometimes  went  ;  and  Alorgan  Watkins 
being  witli  us,  he  and  I,  with  Guli  and  her  maid, 
and  one  Judith  Parker,  wife  of  Dr.  Parker,  one  of 
the  College  of  Physicians  at  London,  with  a  maiden 
daughter  of  theirs  (neither  of  whom  were  Quakers,  but, 
as  ac(iuaintance  of  Mary  Penington,  were  with  her  on 
a  visit),  walked  over  to  that  meeting  ;  it  being  about 
tlie  middle  f)f  the  first  month,  and  the  weather  good. 

This  place  was  about  a  mile  from  the  house  of  Am- 
brose Bennet,  the  justice,  who  the  summer  before  had 
sent  me  and  some  other  Friends  to  Aylesbury  prison, 
from  the  bin-ial  of  Edward  I'arret  of  Amersliani  ;  and 
he,  by  what  means  I  know  not,  getting  notice  not  only 
of  the  meeting,  but,  as  was  supposed,  of  our  being  there. 


328  THE    LIFE    OF 

came  himself  to  it,  and  as  he  came,  catched  up  a  stack- 
wood  stick,  hig  enough  to  knock  any  man  down,  and 
brought  it  witli  him  hidden  under  his  cloak.  Being 
come  to  the  house,  he  stood  for  a  whik^  without  the 
door,  and  out  of  siglit,  listening  to  hear  what  was  said, 
for  Morgan  was  then  speaking  in  the  meetuig.  But 
certainly  he  hoard  very  imperfectly,  if  it  was  true 
which  we  heard  he  said  afterwards  among  his  compan- 
ions, as  an  argument  that  Morgan  was  a  Jesuit,  viz. 
that  in  his  preaching  he  trolled  over  his  Latin  as  flu- 
ently as  ever  he  heard  any  one.  Whereas  Morgan, 
good  man,  was  Letter  versed  in  Welsh  than  in  Latin, 
wliich,  I  suppose,  he  had  never  learned  ;  I  am  sure  he 
did  not  understand  it. 

When  this  martial  justice,  who  at  Amersham  had, 
with  his  drawn  sword,  struck  an  unarmed  man,  who  he 
knew  would  not  strike  again,  had  now  stood  some  time 
abroad,  on  a  sudden  he  rushed  in  among  us,  with  the 
stackwood  stick  held  up  in  his  hand  ready  to  strike, 
crying  out,  "Make  way  there'';  and  an  ancient  wo- 
man not  getting  soon  enough  out  of  his  way,  he  struck 
her  with  the  stick  a  shrewd  blow  over  the  breast.  Then 
pressing  through  the  crowd  to  the  place  where  Morgan 
stood,  he  plucked  him  from  thence,  and  caused  so  great 
a  disorder  in  the  room  that  it  brake  the  meeting  up; 
yet  would  not  the  people  go  away  or  disperse  them- 
selves, but  tarried  to  see  what  the  issue  would  be. 

Then  taking  ])en  and  paper,  he  sat  down  at  the  table 
amnnir  us,  and  asked  several  of  us  our  names,  which 
we  gave,  and  he  set  down  in  writing.  Amongst  others 
he  asked  Judith  Parker,  the  doctor's  wife,  what  her 
name  was,  which  she  readily  gave ;  and  thence  taking 
occasion  to  discourse  him,  she  so  overmastered  him  by 
clear  reason,  delivered  in  line  language,  that  he,  glad 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  329 

to  l)e  riilof  hor,  .struck  out  lu-r  name  and  dismissed  her; 
yet  did  not  she  remove,  but  kept  her  phice  amongst  us. 
When  he  had  taken  what  number  of  names  lie  thought 
fit,  he  singled  out  half  a  dozen;  whereof  ^Morgan  was 
one,  I  another,  one  man  more,  and  three  women,  of 
which  the  woman  of  the  house  was  one,  although  her 
husband  then  was,  and  for  divers  years  before  had  been, 
a  prisoner  in  the  Fleet  for  tithes,  and  had  nobody  to 
take  care  of  his  family  and  his  business  but  his  wife. 

Us  six  he  committed  to  Aylesbury  jail,  wliich,  when 
the  doctor's  wife  heard  him  read  to  the  constable,  she 
attacked  him  again,  and  having  put  him  in  mind  that  it 
was  a  sickly  time,  and  that  the  pestilence  was  rei^trted 
to  be  in  that  place,  she,  in  handsome  terms,  desired  him 
to  consider  in  time  how  he  would  answer  the  cry  of 
our  blood,  if,  by  his  sending  us  to  be  shut  up  in  an 
infected  place,  we  should  lose  our  lives  there.  This 
inade  him  alter  his  purpose,  and  by  a  new  mittimus  he 
sent  us  to  the  hcnise  of  correction  at  Wycombe.  And 
although  he  committed  us  upon  the  act  for  banishment, 
which  limited  a  certain  time  for  imprisonment,  yet  he 
iu  his  mittimus  limited  no  time,  but  ordered  us  to  be 
kept  till  we  should  be  delivered  by  due  course  of  law  ; 
so  little  regardful  was  he,  though  a  lawyer,  of  keeping 
to  the  letter  of  tlu^  law. 

We  were  conunitted  on  the  13th  day  nf  the  month 
called  March,  1(5(55,  and  were  kept  close  prisoners  there 
till  the  7th  day  of  the  month  called  June,  which  was 
some  days  above  twelve  weeks,  and  much  above  what 
the  act  required.  Then  were  we  sent  for  to  the  jus- 
tice's house,  and  the  rest  being  released,  Mdrgan, 
Watkins,  and  I  were  required  to  find  sureties  for  our 
appearance  at  the  next  assizes ;  which  we  refusing  to 
do,  wei"e  committed  anew  to  our  old  [)rison,  the  house 


oo 


30  THE   LIFE   OF 

of  coiTection  at  Wycombe,  there  to  lie  until  the  next 
assizes;  jMoryan  being  in  this  second  mittimus  repre- 
sented as  a  notorious  ofi'ender  in  preacliing,  and  I,  as 
being  upon  the  second  conviction,  in  order  to  banish- 
ment. Thei'c  we  lay  till  the  25th  day  of  the  same 
month  ;  and  then,  Ijy  the  favor  of  the  Earl  of  Ancram, 
being  brought  before  him  at  his  house,  we  were  dis- 
charged fronr  the  prison,  upon  our  promise  to  appear, 
if  at  liberty  and  in  health,  at  the  assizes  :  which  we  did, 
and  were  there  discharged  by  proclamation. 

During  my  imprisonment  in  this  jirison,  I  betook 
myself  for  an  employment  to  making  of  nets  for  kitchen 
service,  to  boil  herbs,  etc.,  in,  which  trade  1  learned  of 
Morgan  Watkins  ;  and  selling  some,  and  giving  others, 
I  ])retty  well  stocked  the  Friends  of  that  country  with 
them. 

Though  in  that  confinement  I  was  not  very  well 
suited  with  company  f>r  conversation,  Morgan's  natural 
temper  not  being  very  agreeable  to  mine,  yet  we  kept 
a  fair  and  brotherly  correspondence,  as  became  friends, 
])rison -fellows,  and  bedfellows,  which  we  were.  And 
indeed  it  was  a  good  time,  I  think,  to  us  all,  for  I  found 
it  so  to  me :  the  Lord  being  graciously  pleased  to  visit 
my  soul  with  the  refreshing  dews  of  his  divine  life, 
wliereby  my  spirit  was  more  and  more  quickened  to 
him,  and  truth  gained  ground  in  me  over  the  tempta- 
tions and  snares  of  the  enemy  ;  which  frequently  raised 
in  my  heart  thanksgivings  and  praises  unto  the  Lord. 
And  at  one  time  more  especially  tlie  sense  1  had  of  the 
prosperity  of  truth,  and  tlie  spreading  thereof,  filling 
my  heart  with  abundant  joy,  made  my  cup  overllow, 
and  the  foUowiug  lines  dro}ti)ed  out :  ^ 

For  trutli  I  sitd'cr  bonds,  in  truth  I  live, 
And  unto  truth  this  tcstiniuiiy  give. 


THOMAS    ELLWOOD.  o'M 

That  truth  shall  over  all  exalted  be, 
And  ill  douiiuiou  rcigii  for  tvenuore  ; 

The  child  s  ali'cady  boni  that  this  iiiny  see. 
Ilonoi-,  praise,  glory  be  to  God  Ihereibre. 

And  underneath  thus  :  — 

Though  death  and  hell  shotdd  against  truth  combine. 
Its  glory  shall  through  all  their  darkness  shine. 

This  I  saw  with  an  ej'c  of  faith,  beyond  the  reach 
of  human  sense ;  for, 

As  sti'ong  desire 
Draws  objects  nigher 
.  In  apprehension  than  ind^-td  they  ai'c, 
I,  with  an  eye 
That  pierced  high, 
Did  thus  of  truth's  prosperity  declare. 

After  we  had  been  discharged  at  the  assizes,  I  n^- 
turned  to  Isaac  Peniugton's  fiuiily  at  Bottrel'sin  (.'hal- 
font,  and,  as  I  remember,  Morgan  Watkins  with  me, 
leaving  Isaac  Penington  a  prisoner  in  Ayh'sljury  jail. 
The  lodgings  we  had  in  this  farmhouse  (Bottrel's)  prov- 
ing too  strait  and  inconvenient  for  the  family,  I  took 
larger  and  better  lodgings  for  them  in  Berrie  IIouso 
at  Araersham,  whithjr  we  went  at  the  time  called 
Micliaelmas,  having  s]ient  the  summer  at  the  other 
place. 

Some  time  after  was  that  memorable  meeting  ap- 
pointed to  beholden  at  London,  through  a  divine  o})en- 
ing  in  the  motion  of  life,  in  that  eminent  servant  and 
prophet  of  God,  George  Fox,  for  the  restoring  and 
briuging  in  again  of  those  wlio  had  i^oiie  out  from  truth, 
and  tin;  holy  unity  of  Friends  therein,  by  the  means  and 
ministry  of  John  Perrot- 

This  man  came  pretty  early  amongst  Friends,  and 


332  .  THE    LIFE    OF 

too  early  took  upon  liim  the  mimsterirJ  office ;  and  bc- 
iuc,  thoue;li  little  injicrson,  yet  great  in  opinion  of  liini- 
self,  nothing  less  -would  servo  liim  than  to  go  and 
convert  the  Pope ;  in  order  wlicrcunto,  he  having  a 
better  man  than  himself,  John  Lnff,  to  accompany  hiin, 
travelled  to  Rome,  where  they  had  not  been  long  ere 
they  were  taken  uji,  and  clapped  into  prison.  Luff,  as 
I  remember,  was  put  into  the  inquisition,  and  Perrot  in 
their  bedlam  or  hospital  for  madmen.  Luff  died  in 
prison,  not  without  well-grounded  suspicion  of  being 
murdered  there  ;  but  PeiTot  lay  there  some  time,  and 
now  and  then  sent  over  an  epistle  to  be  printed  lierc, 
written  iu  such  an  affected  and  ftuitastic  style,  as  miglit 
have  induced  an  indifferent  reader  to  believe  they  had 
suited  the  place  of  his  confinement  to  his  condition. 

After  some  time,  through  the  niediation  of  Friends 
(who  hoped  better  of  him  than  lie  proved)  with  some 
person  of  note  and  interest  there,  he  was  released,  and 
came  back  to  England.  And  the  report  of  his  great 
sufferings  there,  far  greater  in  report  than  iu  reality, 
joined  with  a  singular  show  of  sanctity,  so  far  opened 
the  hearts  of  many  tender  and  compassionate  Friends 
towards  liim,  tliat  it  gave  him  tlie  advantage  of  in- 
sinuating himself  into  their  affections  and  esteem,  and 
made  way  for  the  more  ready  propagation  of  tliat 
peculiar  error  of  his,  of  keeping  on  the  hat  in  time  of 
prayer,  as  well  public  as  private,  unless  they  had  an 
immediate  motion  at  that  time  to  put  it  off. 

Now,  ahliougli  I  liad  not  the  least  acquaintance  with 
this  man,  not  having  ever  exchanged  a  word  with  liim, 
though  I  knew  hiin  by  sight;  nor  had  I  any  esteem 
for  him,  for  either  his  natural  parts  or  ministerial  gift, 
but  rather  a  dislike  of  his  as})ect,  preaching,  and  way 
of  writing ;   yet  this  error  of  his  being  broached  iu 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  333 

the  time  of  my  infancy  and  weakness  of  judgment  as 
to  trutli,  wliilc  I  lived  privately  in  London  and  had 
little  converse  with  Friends,  1,  amongst  the  many  who 
were  caught  in  that  snare,  was  taken  with  the  notit)n, 
as  what  then  seemed  to  my  weak  understanding  suit- 
able to  the  doctrine  of  a  si>iritual  dispensation.  And 
the  matter  coming  to  warm  dchatcs,  both  in  words 
and  writing,  I,  in  a  misguided  zeal,  was  ready  to  enter 
the  lists  of  contention  about  it;  not  then  seeing  what 
spirit  it  proceeded  from  and  was  managed  by,  nor 
f«)reseeing  the  disorder  and  confusion  in  worship  which 
must  naturally  attend  it.  But  as  I  had  no  evil  inten- 
tion or  sinister  end  in  engaging  in  it,  l)ut  was  simply 
betrayed  by  the  specious  pretence  and  show  of  greater 
spirituality,  the  Lord,  in  tender  compassion  to  my 
soul,  was  graciously  pleased  to  open  my  understanding, 
and  give  me  a  clear  sight  of  the  enemy's  design  in  this 
work,  and  drew  me  oti'.  from  the  practice  of  it,  and  to 
bear  testimony  against  it  as  occasion  offered. 

But  when  that  solenm  meeting  was  apyxiinted  at 
London  for  a  travail  in  spirit  on  behalf  of  those  who 
had  thus  gone  out,  that  they  might  rightly  return, 
and  be  sensibly  received  into  the  unity  of  the  body 
again,  my  spirit  rejf>iced,  and  with  gladness  of  heart 
1  went  to  it,  as  did  many  more  of  1>oth  city  and  country; 
and,  with  great  simplicity  and  humility  of  mhid,  did 
honestly  and  openly  acknowledge  our  outgoing,  and 
take  condemnatiou  and  shame  to  ourselves.  And 
some  that  lived  at  too  remote  a  distance,  in  this  nation 
as  well  as  beyond  the  seas,  upon  notice  of  that  meet- 
ing and  the  int<'nd('d  service  of  it,  did  the  like  by  writ- 
ing, in  letters  directed  to  and  oj)enly  read  in  the  meeting, 
which  for  that  ))ur])ose  was  continued  many  days. 

Thus,  in  the  motion  of  life,  were  the  healing  waters 


334  THE   LIFE   OF 

stirred,  and  many,  through  the  virtuous  power  thereof, 
restored  to  somuhiess;  and  indeed  not  many  lost. 
And  tlioueh  most  of  those  who  thus  retnrnrd  were 
such  as  with  myself  had  hefore  renounced  the  error 
and  forsaken  the  practice,  yet  did  we  sensihly  find 
that  forsaking  without  confessing,  in  case  of  puhlic 
scandal,  was  not  sufficient;  hut  that  an  open  ac- 
knowledgment of  open  oU'ences,  as  well  as  forsaking 
them,  was  necessary  to  the  ohtaining  of  complete 
remission. 

Not  long  after  this,  George  Fox  was  moved  of  the 
Lord  tt>  ti'avel  through  the  country,  from  county  to 
county,  to  advise  and  encourage  Friends  to  set  up 
Monthly  and  Quarterly  Meetings,  for  the  hetter  order- 
ing of  the  aifaii-s  of  the  church,  in  taking  care  of  the 
poor,  and  exercising  a  true  gospel  discipline,  for  a 
due  dealhig  with  any  that  miglit  walk  disorderly 
under  our  name,  and  to  see  that  such  as  should  marry 
anumg  us  did  act  fairly  and  clearly  in  that  respect. 

Wlien  he  came  into  this  county,  I  was  one  of  the 
many  Friends  that  were  with  him  at  the  meeting  f(vr 
that  purpose.  And  afterwards  I  travelled  ^ith  Uuli 
and  her  maid  into  the  West  of  England,  to  meet  him 
there  and  to  visit  Friends  in  those  parts  ;  and  we  went 
as  far  as  Topsham,  in  Devonshire,  hefore  we  found 
him.  He  had  heen  in  Cornwall,  and  was  then  return- 
ing, and  came  in  unex])ectedly  at  Topsliain,  where  we 
then  were  pmviding,  if  he  had  not  tlien  come  thitlier, 
to  go  that  day  towards  Com  wall.  IJut  after  he  was 
come  to  us  we  turned  hack  with  him  through  Devon- 
shire, Soniersetsliire,  and  Dorsetshire,  having  generally 
very  good  meetings  wliere  he  was  ;  and  the  work  he 
was  chiefly  concerned  in  went  on  vei-y  prosperously 
and  well,  without  any  opposition  or  dislike;  save  that 


THOMAS    ELLAVOOD.  335 

in  the  general  meeting  of  Friends  in  Dorsetshire,  a 
quarrelsome  man,  wlio  had  g(nie  out  from  Friends  in 
John  Pcrrot's  business,  and  had  not  come  rightly  in 
again,  but  euntinued  in  tlie  practice  of  keeping  on  his 
hat  in  the  time  of  prayer,  to  tlie  great  trouble  and 
offence  of  Friends,  began  to  cavil  and  raise  disputes, 
which  occasioned  some  interrn])tion  and  disturbance. 

Not  only  George  and  Alexander  Parker,  who  were 
with  him,  but  divers  of  the  ancient  Friends  of  that 
county,  endeavored  to  <iuift  that  tn>ublcsome  man,  and 
make  him  sensible  of  his  error;  but  liis  unruly  spirit 
would  still  be  opposing  what  was  said  unto  him,  and 
justifying  himself  in  that  practice.  This  brought  a 
great  weight  and  exercise  upon  me,  who  sat  at  a  dis- 
tance in  the  outward  part  of  the  meeting  ;  and  after  I 
h.id  fur  some  time  borne  the  burthen  thereof,  I  stood 
up  in  the  constraining  power  of  the  Ijord,  and,  in  great 
tenderness  of  spirit,  declared  unto  the  meeting,  and  to 
that  person  more  particularly,  liow  it  had  been  with 
me  in  that  I'espect ;  how  I  had  been  betrayed  into  that 
wrung  practice  ;  how  strong  I  had  been  therein,  and 
liow  the  Lord  had  l)een  graciously  jjleased  to  show  me 
the  evil  thereof,  and  recover  me  out  of  it.  Tliis  com- 
ing unexix'ctedly  from  me,  a  young  man,  a  stranger, 
and  one  who  had  not  intermeddled  with  the  business 
of  the  meeting,  had  that  effect  upon  the  caviller,  that 
if  it  did  not  satisfy  liini,  it  did  at  k'ast  silence  liim,  and 
made  him  for  tlie  present  sink  down  and  be  still,  with- 
out giving  any  furtlier  disturbance  to  the  meeting. 
And  the  Friends  wen;  well  pleased  with  this  unlooked- 
for  testimony  from  me  ;  and  I  was  glad  that  I  had  that 
opportunity  to  confess  to  the  truth,  and  to  acknowledge 
once  more,  in  so  public  a  manner,  tlie  mercy  and 
goodness  of  the  Lord  to  me  therein. 


33G  THE   LIFE   OF 

By  the  time  we  came  l)ack  from  tliis  journey  the 
sninmer  was  pretty  far  <;oue  ;  and  tlie  following  winter 
1  spent  with  the  children  of  the  family,  as  before, 
without  any  remarkahle  alteration  in  my  circumstances, 
until  the  next  si)ring,  when  I  found  in  myself  a  dis- 
position of  mind  to  change  my  single  life  for  a  married 
state.  I  had  always  entertained  so  liigh  a  regard  for 
marriage,  as  it  was  a  divine  institution,  that  1  held  it 
Hot  lawful  to  make  it  a  sort  of  political  trade  to  rise  in 
the  world  by.  And  therefore,  as  I  could  not  but  in  my 
judgment  blame  such  as  I  found  made  it  their  business 
to  liuut  after  and  endeavor  to  gain  those  who  were 
accounted  great  fortunes,  not  so  much  regarding  what 
she  is  as  what  she  lias,  but  making  wealth  the  chief, 
if  not  the  only  thing  aimed  at,  so  I  resolved  to  avoid, 
iu  my  own  j)ractice,  that  course,  and  liow  much  soever 
n^.y  condition  might  have  promi)ted  me,  as  well  as 
others,  to  seek  advantage  that  way,  never  to  engage 
on  the  account  of  riches,  nor  at  all  to  marry  till  judicious 
affection  drew  me  to  it,  wliich  I  now  began  to  feel  at 
work  iu  my  breast. 

The  object  of  this  afi'ection  was  a  Friend  whose 
name  was  Mary  Ellis,  whom  for  divers  years  I  had  had 
an  acquaintance  with  iu  the  way  of  common  friend- 
ship only,  and  in  whom  I  thought  1  then  saw  tliose 
fair  prints  of  truth  and  solid  virtue,  which  I  after- 
wards found  in  a  sublime  degree  in  her;  but  what  her 
condition  in  the  ^volid  was  as  to  estate,  I  was  wlndly 
a  stranger  to,  nor  desired  to  know.  I  had  once,  a  year 
or  two  before,  had  an  opportunity  to  do  her  a  small 
piece  of  service,  wliich  she  wanted  some  assistance  in  ; 
wherein  I  acted  with  all  sincerity  and  freedom  of  mind, 
not  expecting  or  desiring  any  advantage  by  her,  or  re- 
ward from  her,  being  very  well  satisfied  in  the  act  itself, 
tliat  I  had  served  a  fiiend,  and  helped  tlie  helpless. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  337 

That  little  intorconrso  of  cnmmon  kindness  between 
us  ended  without  the  least  thought  (I  am  verily  per- 
suaded on  her  part,  and  well  assured  on  iny  own)  (tf 
any  otlier  ov  further  relation  than  that  of  a  free  and 
fair  friendship  ;  nor  did  it  at  that  time  lead  us  into 
liny  closer  conversation  or  more  intimate  acquaintance 
one  with  the  other,  than  had  been  bef  )re.  But  some 
time  (and  that  a  good  while)  after,  I  found  my  heart 
secretly  drawn  and  inclining  towards  her ;  yet  was  I 
not  hasty  in  proposing,  but  waited  to  feel  a  satisfactory 
settlement  of  mind  therein,  before  I  made  any  step 
thereto. 

After  some  time,  I  took  an  opportunity  to  open  my 
mind  therein  unto  my  mucli-lionorcd  friends  Isaac  and 
Mary  Penington,  who  then  stood  purcntam  loco,  in 
the  place  or  stead  of  parents  to  me.  They,  having 
solemnly  weighed  the  matter,  expressed  their  unity 
therewith ;  and  indeed  their  apprid)atiiin  thereof  was  no 
small  confirmation  to  me  therein.  Yet  took  I  further 
deliberation,  often  retiring  in  spirit  to  the  Lord,  aud 
crying  to  him  for  direction,  before  I  addressed  myself 
to  her.  At  length,  as  I  was  sitting  all  alone,  wait- 
ing upon  the  Lord  for  counsel  and  guidance  in  this, 
in  itself  and  to  me,  so  important  affaii-,  I  felt  a  word 
sweetly  arise  in  me,  as  if  I  heard  a  voice,  which  said, 
''  Go,  and  prevail."  And  faith  springing  in  my  heart 
with  the  word,  I  immediately  arose  and  went,  nothing 
doubting. 

When  I  was  come  to  her  lodgings,  which  were  about 
a  mile  from  me,  her  maid  told  me  she  was  in  her 
chamber ;  for  having  been  under  some  indisposition  of 
body,  wliich  had  obliged  her  to  keep  licr  chamber,  she- 
had  not  yet  left  it;  wherefore  I  desired  tlie  maid  to 
acquaint  her  mistress  that  I  was  come  to  give  her  a 


oo 


38  THE   LIFE   OF 

visit,  whereupon  I  was  invited  to  go  np  to  her.  And 
after  some  little  time  spent  in  common  conversa- 
tion, feeling  my  spirit  weightily  concerned,  I  solemnly 
opened  my  mind  unto  her,  with  respect  to  the  particular 
husiness  1  came  ahout ;  which  I  soon  perceived  was  a 
great  snrprisal  to  her;  for  she  had  taken  iu  an  ai)pre- 
hcnsion,  as  others  had  done,  that  mine  eye  had  heeu 
fixed  elsewhere,  and  nearer  home. 

I  used  not  many  words  to  her;  hut  I  felt  a  divine 
power  went  along  with  the  words,  and  fixed  the  matter 
expressed  by  them  so  fast  in  her  hreast  that,  as  she 
afterwards  acknowledged  t<i  me,  she  could  not  shut  it 
out.  I  made  at  that  time  hut  a  short  visit ;  for  having 
told  her  I  diil  not  expect  an  answer  from  her  now,  hut 
desired  she  W((uld,  in  the  most  stdemn  manner,  weigh 
the  proposal  made,  and  in  due  time  give  me  such  an 
answer  thereunto  as  the  Lord  should  give  her,  I  tdtdv 
my  leave  of  her  and  departed,  leaving  the  issue  to  the 
Lord. 

1  had  a  journey  then  at  hand,  Avhich  I  foresaw  would 
take  me  up  two  weeks'  time.  Wlierefore,  the  day  he- 
fore  I  was  to  set  out,  I  went  to  visit  her  again,  to  ac- 
quaint her  with  my  journey,  and  excuse  my  absence ; 
not  yet  pressing  her  for  an  answer,  but  assuring  her 
that  I  felt  in  myself  an  increase  of  aflection  to  her,  and 
hoped  to  receive  a  suitable  return  from  her  in  the 
Lord's  time;  to  wliom,  iu  the  mean  time,  I  committed 
both  her,  myself,  and  tlie  concern  between  us.  And 
indeed  I  found,  at  my  return,  that  I  could  not  have  left 
it  in  a  better  hand,  for  the  Lord  had  been  my  advocate 
in  my  absence,  and  had  so  far  answered  all  her  objec- 
tions, that  when  I  came  to  her  again,  she  ratlier  ac- 
(luainted  me  with  tliem  than  urged  them.  From  tluit 
time  forM'ardswe  entertained  each  other  with  afie^-tion- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  339 

ate  kindness,  in  order  to  marriage ;  which  yet  we  did 
not  hasten  to,  but  went  on  deliberately.  Neither  did  I 
use  those  vulgar  ways  of  courtshij),  l)y  making  freijuent 
and  ricli  presents;  not  only  for  that  my  outward  con- 
dition would  not  comport  with  the  expense,  but  be- 
cause I  liked  not  to  obtain  by  such  means,  but  preferred 
an  unbribed  affection. 

While  this  affair  stood  thus  with  me  T  had  occasion 
to  take  another  journey  into  Kent  and  Sussex  ;  which 
yet  I  would  not  mention  here,  but  for  a  i)articular  acci- 
dent which  befell  me  on  the  way.  The  occasion  of  this 
journey  was  this  :  Mary  Penington's  daughter  Guli, 
intending  to  go  to  her  uncle  Springett's,  in  Sussex,  and 
from  thence  amongst  her  tenants,  her  motlier  desired 
nie  to  accomj)any  lier,  and  assist  her  in  her  butjiness 
with  her  tenants. 

We  tarried  at  London  the  first  night,  and  set  out 
next  morning  on  the  Tunbridge  road  ;  and  Seven  Oalc 
lying  in  our  way,  we  put  in  there  to  bait :  but  truly  we 
had  much  ado  to  get  either  provisions  or  room  fur  our- 
selves or  our  horses,  the  house  was  so  filled  with  guests, 
and  those  not  of  the  better  sort.  For  the  Duke  of  York 
being,  as  we  were  told,  on  the  road  that  day  for  the 
Wells,  divers  of  his  guards,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  his 
retinue,  had  nearly  filled  all  the  inns  there.  I  left  John 
Gigger,  who  waited  on  Guli  in  this  journey,  and  was 
afterwards  her  menial  servant,  to  take  care  for  the 
horses,  while  I  did  the  like,  as  well  as  I  could,  for  lier. 
I  got  a  little  room  to  put  her  into,  and  having  shut  lier 
into  it,  Avent  to  see  what  relief  the  kitchen  would  afiord 
us  ;  and  with  nmch  ado,  by  praying  hard  and  paying 
dear,  I  got  a  small  joint  of  meat  from  the  spit,  which 
served  rather  to  stay  than  satisfy  our  stomachs,  for  we 
were  all  pretty  sharp  set. 


340  THE   LIFE   OF 

After  this  short  repast,  heing  weary  of  our  quarters, 
we  quickly  mounted,  and  took  the  road  again,  willing 
to  hasten  from  a  place  wliere  we  found  nothing  hut 
rudeness:  a  knot  of  [rude  people]  soon  followed  us, 
designing,  as  we  afterwards  found,  to  put  an  abuse 
upon  us,  and  make  themselves  sport  with  us.  We 
had  a  spot  of  fine  smooth  sandy  way,  whereon  the 
liorses  trod  so  softly,  that  we  heard  them  not  till  one 
of  them  was  upon  us.  I  was  then  riding  ahi'east  with 
Guli  and  discoursing  with  her;  when  on  a  sudden,  hear- 
ing a  little  noise,  and  turning  my  eye  that  way,  I  saw 
a  liorseman  coming  up  on  the  furtlier  side  of  her  horse, 
having  his  left  arm  stretched  out,  just  ready  to  take  her 
about  tlie  waist,  and  pluck  her  off  backwards  from  her 
own  horse,  to  lay  her  before  him  upon  his.  I  had  but 
just  time  to  thrust  forth  my  stick  between  him  and  her, 
and  bid  liim  stand  off;  and  at  the  same  time  reining 
my  horse  to  let  liers  go  before  me,  thrust  in  between 
her  and  liim,  and,  being  Ijetter  mounted  than  lie,  my 
horse  run  him  off.  But  his  horse  being,  though 
weaker  than  mine,  yet  nimble,  he  slipped  by  me, 
and  got  up  to  her  on  the  near  side,  endeavoring  to 
ofl'er  abuse  to  her,  to  prevent  which  I  thrust  in  upon 
him  again,  and  in  our  jostling  we  drove  her  liorse  quite 
out  <tf  the  way,  and  almost  into  tlie  next  hedge. 

While  we  were  tlius  contending,  I  heard  a  noise  of 
loud  laughter  behind  us,  and,  turning  my  head  that 
way,  I  saw  three  or  four  horsemen  more,  who  could 
scarce  sit  their  horses  for  laughing,  to  see  the  sport 
tlieir  conn)ani(m  made  with  us.  From  thence  I  saw  it 
was  a  plot  laid,  and  that  this  rude  fellow  was  not  to  be 
dallifnl  with  ;  wlierefore  I  bestirred  myself  tlie  more  to 
keep  him  off,  admonishing  him  to  take  warning  in  time, 
and  give  over  his  ubusiveuess,  lest  he  repented  too  late. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  341 

He  had  in  his  hand  a  short  thick  truncheon,  wliich  he 
held  up  at  me;  on  which  laying  hold  with  a  strong 
gripe,  I  suddenly  wrenched  it  out  of  his  hand,  and 
threw  it  at  as  great  a  distance  behind  me  as  I  could. 

While  he  rode  back  to  fetch  his  truncheon,  I  called 
up  honest  John  Gigger,  who  was  indeed  a  right  honest 
man,  and  of  a  temper  so  thoroughly  peaceable  that 
he  had  not  hitherto  put  in  at  all.  But  now  I  roused 
him,  and  bid  him  ride  so  close  up  to  his  mistress's  horse 
on  the  further  side,  that  no  horse  might  thrust  in 
between,  and  I  would  endeavor  to  guard  the  near  side. 
But  he,  good  man,  not  thinking  it  perhaps  decent 
enough  for  him  to  ride  so  near  his  mistress,  left  room 
enough  for  another  to  ride  between.  And,  indeed,  so 
soon  as  our  brute  hud  recovered  his  truncheon,  he  came 
up  directly  tliither,  and  had  thrust  in  again,  had  not  I, 
by  a  nimble  turn,  chopped  in  upon  him  and  kept  him 
at  bay.  I  then  told  him  I  had  hitlierto  spared  him, 
but  wished  hiui  not  to  provoke  me  further.  Tliis  I 
spake  with  such  a  tone,  as  bespake  a  high  resentment 
of  the  abuse  put  upon  us,  and,  withal,  pressed  so  close 
upon  him  with  my  horse  that  I  suffered  him  not  to 
come  up  any  more  to  Guh. 

This,  his  compani(jns,  who  kept  an  equal  distance 
behind  us,  both  heard  and  saw,  and  thereupon  two  of 
them,  advancing,  came  up  to  us.  I  then  thought  I 
might  likely  have  my  hands  full,  but  Providence  turned 
it  otherwise  :  for  they,  seeing  the  contest  rise  so  high, 
and  probably  fearing  it  would  rise  higher,  not  knowing 
where  it  might  stop,  came  in  to  part  us ;  which  they 
did  by  talung  liim  away,  one  of  them  leading  his  horse 
by  the  bridle,  and  the  other  driving  him  on  with  his 
whip,  and  so  carried  him  off. 

One  of  their  company  stayed  yet  behind.     And  it  so 


342  THE   LIFE   OF 

hiippeniiig  that  a  great  shower  just  then  ffll,  we  he- 
took  ourselves  for  shelter  into  a  thick  aud  well- spread 
oak  which  stood  hard  by.  Thither  also  came  tliat 
other  person,  wlio  wore  the  dulse's  livery ;  and  while 
we  put  on  our  defensive  garments  against  the  weather, 
which  then  set  in  to  he  wet,  he  took  the  opportunity  to 
discourse  with  me  about  the  man  that  liad  been  so  rude 
to  us,  endeavoring  to  excuse  him,  by  alleging  that  he 
had  drunk  a  little  too  liberally.  I  let  him  know  that  one 
vice  would  not  excuse  another ;  that  although  but  one 
of  them  was  actually  concerned  in  tlie  abuse,  yet  both 
he  and  the  rest  of  them  were  abettors  of  it,  and  acces- 
sories to  it;  that  I  was  not  ignorant  whose  livery 
they  wore;  and  was  well  assured  their  lord  would  not 
maintain  them  in  committing  such  outrages  u])on  travel- 
lers on  the  road,  to  our  injury  and  his  dishonor;  that  I 
understood  the  duke  was  coming  down,  and  that  they 
might  expect  to  be  called  to  an  account  for  this  rude 
action.  He  then  begged  hard  tliat  we  would  pass  by 
the  offence,  and  make  no  complaint  to  their  lord,  for 
he  knew,  he  said,  the  duke  would  be  very  severe,  and 
it  would  be  the  utter  ruin  of  the  young  man.  When 
he  had  said  what  he  could,  he  went  off  before  us, 
without  any  ground  given  him  to  expect  favor ;  and 
when  we  had  fitted  ourselves  for  the  -weather,  we  fol- 
lowed after  at  our  own  pace. 

When  we  came  to  Tunbridge,  I  set  John  Gigger 
foremost,  bidding  him  lead  on  brisldy  through  the 
town,  and,  placing  Guli  in  the  middle,  I  came  close  up 
after  her,  tliat  I  miglit  both  observe  and  interpose,  if 
any  fresli  abuse  should  be  offered  her.  We  were  ex- 
pected, I  perceived,  f(»r  though  it  rained  very  hard,  the 
street  was  tlu'ongcd  witli  men,  who  looked  very  ear- 
nestly upon  us,  but  did  not  put  any  affront  upon  us. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  343 

We  had  a  good  way  to  ride  beyond  Tiinbridge,  and 
beyond  the  Wells,  in  byways  among  the  woods,  and 
were  the  later  for  the  hindrance  we  had  had  on  the  way. 
And  when,  being  come  to  Harbeit  Springett's  house, 
Guli  acquainted  her  uncle  what  danger  and  ti"ouble 
she  had  gone  through  on  the  way,  he  resented  it  so 
high  that  he  would  have  had  the  persons  been  prose- 
cuted for  it.  But  since  Providence  had  interposed,  and 
so  well  preserved  and  delivered  her,  she  chose  to  pass 
by  the  offence. 

AVhcn  Guli  had  finished  the  business  she  went  upon 
Ave  returned  home,  and  I  delivered  her  safe  to  her 
glad  mother.  From  that  time  forward  I  continued  my 
visits  to  my  best-lieloved  friend  until  we  married, 
which  was  on  the  28th  day  of  the  eighth  month,  called 
October,  in  the  year  1069.  We  took  each  other  in  a 
select  meeting  of  the  ancient  and  grave  Friends  of 
that  country,  holden  in  a  Friend's  house,  where  in 
those  times  not  only  the  Monthly  Meeting  for  business, 
but  the  public  meeting  for  worship  was  sometimes 
kept.  A  very  solemn  meeting  it  was,  and  in  a 
weighty  frame  of  spirit  we  were,  in  which  we  sensi- 
bly felt  the  Lord  with  us,  and  joining  us ;  the  sense 
whereof  remained  with  us  all  our  lifetime,  and  was 
of  good  service,  and  very  comfortable  to  us  on  all 
occasions. 

My  next  care,  after  marriage,  was  to  secure  my  wife 
what  moneys  she  had,  and  with  herself  bestowed  upon 
me.  For  I  lield  it  would  be  an  al)oniinal>le  crime 
in  me,  and  savor  of  the  highest  ingratitude,  if  I, 
though  but  tlu'ough  negligence,  sliould  leave  room  for 
my  father,  in  case  I  should  be  taken  away  suddenly, 
to  l)reak  in  ui)on  her  estate;  and  deprive  lier  of  any 
part  of  tliat  wliicli  had  been  and  ouglit  to  be  her  own. 


344  THE   LIFE   OF 

Wherefore  with  the  first  tipportunity  (as  I  remember 
the  v(;ry  next  day,  and  before  1  knew  particularly  what 
she  had)  I  made  my  will,  and  thereby  seem-ed  to  her 
whatever  I  was  possessed  of,  as  well  all  that  whieh 
she  brought,  either  in  moneys  or  in  goods,  as  tliat  little 
whicli  1  had  before  I  married  her ;  which  indeed  was 
but  httle,  yet  more  (by  all  that  little)  than  I  liad  ever 
given  her  ground  to  expect  witli  me. 

She  had  indeed  been  advised  by  some  of  her  rela- 
ti(ms  to  secure  before  marriage  some  part,  at  least,  of 
what  she  had,  to  be  at  her  own  disposal.  Which, 
though  perhaps  not  wholly  free  from  some  tincture  of 
self-interest  in  the  proposer,  was  not  in  itself  the  worst 
of  counsel.  But  tlie  worthiness  of  her  mind,  and  the 
sense  of  the  ground  on  wliicli  she  received  me,  would 
not  suffer  her  to  entertain  any  suspicion  of  me  ;  and 
this  laid  <.>n  me  the  greater  obligation,  in  ])oint  of  grati- 
tude as  well  as  of  justice,  to  regard  and  secure  to  her, 
which  I  did. 

I  had  not  been  long  married  before  I  was  solicited 
by  my  dear  friends  Isaac  and  Mary  Penington,  and  her 
daughter  Guli,  to  take  a  journey  into  Kent  and  Sussex, 
to  account  with  their  tenants  and  overlook  their  estates 
in  those  counties,  which  before  I  was  married  I  had 
had  tlie  care  of;  and  accordingly  the  journey  I  under- 
took, though  in  the  deptli  of  winter. 

jMy  travels  into  those  parts  were  the  more  irksome 
to  me  from  the  solitariness  I  underwent,  and  want  of 
suitable  society.  For  my  business  lying  among  the 
tenants,  wlio  were  a  rustic  sort  of  people,  of  various 
persuasions  and  humors,  but  not  Friends,  I  liad  little 
opportunity  of  conversing  witli  Friends;  though  I  con- 
trived to  be  with  them  as  miicli  as  I  could,  especially 
on  the  first  day  of  the  week. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  345 

But  tliat  which  m.ade  iny  present  jdiirney  moro 
heavy  to  me  was  the  sorrowful  exercise  which  was 
newly  fallen  uj)on  me  from  my  father.  He  had,  upon 
my  first  acquainting  him  with  my  inclination  to  marry, 
and  to  whom,  not  only  very  much  approved  the  match, 
but  v(duntarily  offered,  without  my  either  asking  or 
expecting,  to  give  me  a  handsome  portion  at  present, 
with  assurance  of  an  addition  to  it  hereafter.  And  ho 
not  only  made  this  t)ffer  to  me  in  private,  but  came 
down  from  London  into  the  country  on  purpose  to  be 
better  acquainted  with  my  friend,  and  did  there  make 
the  same  proposal  to  her,  offering  also  to  give  secu- 
rity to  any  friend  or  relation  of  hers  for  the  perform- 
ance; which  ofler  she  most  generously  declined,  leaving 
him  as  free  as  she  found  him.  But  after  we  were 
married,  notwithstanding  such  his  promise,  he  wholly 
declined  the  performance  of  it,  under  pretence  of  our 
not  being  married  by  the  priest  and  liturgy.  This 
usage  and  evil  treatment  of  us  thereupon  was  a  great 
trouble  to  me  ;  and  when  I  endeavored  to  soften  him 
in  the  matter  he  forbid  me  speaking  to  him  of  it  any 
more,  and  removed  his  lodging  that  I  might  not  find 
hun. 

The  grief  I  conceived  on  this  occasion  was  not  for 
any  disappointment  to  myself  or  to  my  wife ;  for 
neither  she  nor  I  had  any  strict  or  necessary  depen- 
dence upon  that  promise  ;  but  my  grief  was  for  the 
cause  assigned  liy  him  as  the  ground  of  it,  which  was, 
that  our  marriage  was  not  by  priest  or  liturgy.  And 
surely,  hard  would  it  have  been  for  my  s))irit  to  bear 
up  under  the  weight  of  this  exercise,  had  not  the  Lord 
been  exceeding  gracious  to  me,  and  supported  me  with 
the  inllowings  of  his  love  and  life,  wherewith  he  vis- 
ited my  soul  in  my  travail:  the  sense  whereof  raised 


346  THE   LIFE   OF 

in  my  heart  a  thankful  remcmhrance  of  his  manifold 
kindnessos  in  his  fonnor  dealings  with  me. 

About  this  time  (as  I  remember)  it  was  that  some 
bickerings  happening  between  some  Baptists  and  some 
of  the  people  called  Quakers,  in  or  about  Higii  AVy- 
conibe,  in  Buckingliamshire,  occasioned  by  some  re- 
Ikx'ting  words  a  Baptist  preacher  had  publicly  uttered 
in  one  of  their  meetings  there  against  the  Quakers  in 
general,  and  William  Penn  in  particular,  it  came  at 
length  to  this  issue,  that  a  meeting  for  a  public  dis])iite 
was  appointed  to  be  hidden  at  West  Wycombe,  be- 
tween Jeremy  Ives,  who  espoused  his  brother's  cause, 
and  William  Penn.  To  this  meeting,  it  being  so  near 
me,  I  went,  rather  to  countenance  the  cause  than  for 
any  delight  I  took  in  such  work;  for  indeed  I  have 
rarely  found  the  advantage  equivalent  to  the  trouble 
and  danger  arising  from  those  contests  :  for  which  cause 
I  would  not  choose  them,  as,  being  justly  engaged,  I 
woidd  not  refuse  them. 

Tlie  issue  of  this  proved  better  than  I  expected. 
For  Ives  having  undertaken  an  ill  cause,  to  argue 
against  the  divine  light  and  universal  grace  conferred 
by  God  on  all  men  ;  when  he  had  spent  his  stock  of 
arguments,  wliicli  he  brought  with  him  on  that  subject, 
finding  his  worlt  go  on  lieavily  and  the  auditory  not 
well  satisfied,  stepped  down  from  his  seat  and  departed, 
with  purpose  to  break  up  the  assembly.  But,  except 
some  few  of  his  piirty  who  followed  him,  the  peojde 
generally  stayed,  and  were  the  more  attentive  to  wliat 
was  afterwards  delivered  amcrngstthem;  which  Ives, 
understanding,  came  in  again,  and,  in  an  angry  railing 
manner  expressing  his  dislike  tliat  we  went  not  away 
when  he  did,  gave  more  disgust  to  the  people. 

After  the  meeting  was  ended,  1  sent  to  my  friend 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  347 

Isaac  Penington  (by  his  son  and  servant,  w'lo  rftunioil 
home,  though  it  was  Lite,  that  evening)  a  short  account 
of  tlic  business,  in  the  following  distich  :  — 

Prsevaluit  Veritas  -.  iiiiniici  terga  dedere: 
Nos  sumus  in  tuto.     Laus  tribuenda  Deo. 

Which  may  be  thus  Englished  :  — 

Truth  hath  prevail'd  :  the  enemies  did  fly : 
We  are  in  safety.     Praise  to  God  on  hij^h. 

But  both  they  and  we  had  quickly  other  work  found 
us  :  it  soon  became  a  stormy  time.  The  clouds  had 
been  long  gathering,  and  threatened  a  tempest.  Tlie 
parliament  had  sat  some  time  before,  and  hatched  that 
unaccountable  law,  which  was  called  the  Conventicle 
Act :  if  that  may  be  allowed  to  be  called  a  law,  by 
whomsoever  made,  which  was  so  directly  contrary  to 
the  fundamental  laws  of  England,  to  connnon  justice, 
equity,  and  right  reason,  as  this  manifestly  was. 

No  sooner  had  the  bishops  obtained  this  law  for  sup- 
pressing all  meetings  but  their  own,  than  some  of  the 
clergy  of  most  ranks,  and  some  others  too,  who  were 
overmuch  bigoted  to  that  party,  bestirred  themselves 
with  might  and  main  to  find  out  and  encourage  the 
most  prodigate  wretches  to  turn  informers,  and  to  get 
such  persons  into  parochial  offices  as  would  l)e  most 
obsequious  to  their  commands,  and  ready  at  their  beck, 
to  put  it  into  the  most  rigorous  executicm.  Yet  it  took 
not  alike  in  all  places  ;  but  some  were  forwarder  in  the 
work  than  others,  according  as  the  agents  intended  to 
be  chiefly  employed  therein  had  been  predisposed 
thereunto. 

For  in  some  parts  of  the  nation  care  Iiad  been  timely 
taken,  l»y  souu!  not  of  tlie  lowest  rank,  to  choose  out 
some  particular  persons,  men  of  siiarpwit,  close  conn- 


348  THE   LIFE   OF 

tenancps,  pliant  tempers,  and  deep  dissimulation,  and 
send  tliem  forth  ainoni)^  the  sectaries,  so  called,  with 
instructions  t(j  thrust  tlieniselves  into  all  societies,  con- 
form to  all  or  any  sort  of  religious  profession.  Proteus- 
like, change  their  shapes,  and  transform  tliemselves 
from  one  leligious  appearance  to  another,  as  occasion 
should  require  ;  in  a  word,  to  be  all  things  to  all,  not 
that  they  might  win  some,  but  that  they  might,  if 
possible,  ruin  all,  at  least  many. 

But  though  it  pleased  the  Divine  Providence,  who 
sometimes  vouchsafed  to  bring  good  out  of  evil,  to  put 
a  stop,  in  a  great  measure  at  least,  to  the  persecution 
here  begun,  yet  in  other  parts  both  of  the  city  and 
country,  it  was  carried  on  witli  great  severity  and  rigor ; 
the  worst  of  men,  for  the  most  part,  being  set  up  for 
informers ;  the  worst  of  magistrates  encouraging  and 
abetting  them  ;  and  the  worst  of  the  priests,  who  iirst 
began  to  blow  the  fire,  now  seeing  how  it  took,  spread, 
and  blazed,  clapping  their  hands  and  hallooing  them 
on  to  this  evil  work. 

Scarce  was  the  before-mentioned  storm  of  outward 
persecution  from  the  government  blown  over,  when 
Satan  raised  another  storm  of  another  kind  against  us 
on  this  occasion.  The  foregoing  storm  of  persecution, 
as  it  lasted  long,  so  in  many  ])arts  of  the  nation,  and 
particularly  at  London,  it  fell  very  sharp  and  violent, 
especially  on  the  Quakers.  For  they  having  no  refuge 
but  God  alone  to  Hy  unto,  could  not  dodge  and  shift  to 
avoid  the  suffering,  as  others  of  other  denominations 
could,  and  in  their  •  worldly  wisdom  and  policy  did; 
altering  their  meetings  with  rcsjicct  botli  to  place  and 
time,  and  forbearing  to  meet  when  forbidden,  or  keiit 
out  of  their  meeting-houses.  So  that  of  the  several 
sorts  of  dissenters,  the  Quakers  oidy  held  up  public  tes- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  349 

tiiniHiy,  as  a  standard  or  ensign  of  religion,  by  keeping 
their  meetings  duly  and  fully,  at  the  accustomed  times 
and  places,  so  long  as  they  were  suffered  to  enjoy  the 
use  of  their  meeting-houses  ;  and  when  tliey  were  shut 
up,  and  Friends  kept  out  of  them  by  force,  they  assem- 
bled in  the  streets,  as  near  to  their  meeting-houses  as 
they  could. 

Tliis  bold  and  truly  Christian  behavior  in  the  Qua- 
kers disturbed  and  ui>t  a  little  disiileased  tlie  persecutors, 
who,  fretting,  com])lained  that  the  stubborn  Quakers 
brake  their  strength,  and  bore  off  the  blow  from  those 
other  dissenters,  whom  as  they  most  feared,  so  they 
principally  aimed  at.  For  indeed  the  Quakers  they 
rather  desi)ised  than  feared,  as  being  a  jtenjile  from 
whose  peaceable  princij)les  and  in-actices  they  held  them- 
selves secure  from  danger ;  whereas  having  sufl'ered 
severely,  and  tliat  lately  too,  by  and  under  the  other 
dissenters,  they  thought  they  had  just  cause  to  be  ap- 
prehensive of  danger  from  them,  and  good  reasuu  to 
suppress  them. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  more  ingenious  amongst  other 
dissenters  of  each  denomination,  sensible  of  the  ease 
they  enjoyed  by  our  bold  and  steady  suffering,  which 
abated  the  heat  of  the  persecutors,  and  Idunted  the  edge 
of  the  sword  before  it  came  to  them,  frankly  acknowl- 
(Mlged  tlie  benefit  received;  calling  us  the  bulwark  that 
kept  off  the  force  of  the  stroke  from  them  ;  and  praying 
that  we  might  be  preserved,  and  enabled  to  break  the 
strength  of  tlie  enemy  ;  nor  could  some  of  them  forbear, 
those  especially  who  were  called  Baptists,  to  express 
their  kind  and  favorable  opinion  of  us  and  of  the  princi- 
})les  we  ]>r.)fessed,  whicli  emboldcmed  us  to  go  through 
that,  which  but  to  hear  of  was  a  terror  to  them. 

Tliis  tlieir  good-will    raised    ill-will    against    us    iu 


350  THE   LIFE    OF 

some  of  their  teachers,  who,  though  wilhiig  to  reap  the 
advantage  of  a  shelter,  hy  a  retreat  hehind  us  during^ 
the  time  that  the  storm  histed,  yet  partly  through  an 
evil  emulation,  })artly  throuiih  fear  lest  tliey  should  lose 
some  of  those  memhers  of  tlieir  society,  who  had  dis- 
covered such  fixvoral)le  thoughts  of  our  princii)les  and 
us,  they  set  themselves,  as  soon  as  the  storm  was  over, 
to  represent  us  in  as  ugly  a  dress  and  in  as  frightful  a 
figure  to  the  world  as  they  could  invent  and  put  upon 
us.  In  order  whereunto,  one  Thomas  Hicks,  a  preacher 
among  the  Ba])tists  at  London,  took  upon  him  to  write 
several  pamphlets  successively,  under  the  title  of  "  A 
Dialogue  hetweeu  a  Christian  and  a  Quaker  " ;  which 
were  so  craftily  contrived  that  the  unwary  reader 
might  conclude  them  to  he  not  merely  fictions,  hut  real 
discourses,  actually  held  hetweeu  one  of  the  people 
called  Quakers  and  some  other  person.  In  thcvse  feigned 
dialogues,  Hicks,  having  no  regard  to  justice  or  com- 
mon honesty,  had  made  his  counterfeit  Quaker  say 
whatsoever  he  tlu>ught  M'ould  render  him,  one  while 
sufficiently  erroneous,  another  while  ridiculous  enough; 
forging,  in  the  Quaker's  name,  some  things  so  ahomina- 
bly  false,  other  things  so  intolerably  foolish,  as  could 
not  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  come  into  the  con- 
ceit, much  less  to  have  dropped  from  tlie  lip  or  jien  of 
any  that  went  under  the  name  of  a  Qual^er. 

These  dialogues  (shall  I  call  them,  or  rather  diaho- 
hujHcs)  were  answered  by  our  friend  William  Peun,  in 
two  books;  the  fir.st  being  entitled  "  Keason  against 
Railing,"  the  other  "  Tlie  Counterfeit  Christian  de- 
tected"; in  wliich  Hicks  being  charged  with  manifest 
as  well  as  mauifidd  forgeries,  ])erversions,  dowm'ight 
lies  and  slan(U'rs  against  the  peojih;  caUed  Quakers  in 
general,  William  Penn,  George  Whitehead,  and  divers 


THOMAS    ELLWOOU.  351 

Others  by  natne ;  complaint  was  made,  by  way  of  ap- 
peal, to  the  Baptists  iu  and  about  London,  for  justice 
against  Thomas  Hicks. 

Those  IJaptists,  who  it  seems  were  iu  the  plot  with 
Hicks,  to  defame  at  any  rate,  right  or  wrong,  the 
people  called  Quakers,  taking  tlie  advantage  of  the 
absence  of  William  Penn  and  (ieorge  Whitehead,  who 
were  the  persons  most  innnediately  concerned,  and  who 
were  then  gone  a  long  journey  on  the  service  of 
truth,  to  be  absent  from  the  city  in  all  probability  for 
a  considerable  time,  appointed  a  puljlic  meeting  iu 
one  of  their  meeting-houses,  under  pretence  of  calling 
Thomas  Hicks  to  account,  and  hearing  the  charge 
made  good  against  him;  but  with  design  to  give  the 
greater  stroke  to  the  Quakers,  when  they  who  should 
make  good  the  charge  against  Hicks  could  not  be 
present.  For  upon  their  sending  notice  to  the  lodg- 
ings of  William  I'l'im  and  George  Whiteliead  of  their 
intended  meeting,  they  were  told  by  several  Friends  that 
both  William  Penn  and  George  Whitehead  were  from 
home,  travelling  in  the  counties,  uncertain  where ;  and 
therefore  could  not  be  informed  of  their  intended  meet- 
ing, either  by  letter  or  express,  within  the  time  l)y 
them  limited  ;  for  which  reason  they  were  desired  to 
defer  the  meeting  till  they  could  have  notice  of  it  and 
time  to  return,  that  they  might  b(i  at  it.  But  these 
Baptists,  wliose  design  was  otherwise  laid,  would  not 
be  })revailed  with  to  defer  the  meeting,  but,  gLul  of  the 
advantage,  gave  their  brother  Hicks  o])p()rtunity  to 
make  a  colorable  defence,  where  he  had  his  jiarty  to 
lielp  him,  and  none  to  ojtpose  liim  ;  and  having  mad" 
a  mnck  show  of  examining  him  and  his  works  of 
darkness,  they,  in  line,  having  heard  one  side,  ac- 
quitted him. 


352  THE    LIFE    OF 

This  gave  just  occasion  for  a  new  complaint  and  de- 
mand (if  justice  against  liim  and  them.  Fur  as  soon 
as  Williani  Penn  returned  to  London,  he  in  print  ex- 
hibited his  complaint  of  this  imfair  dealing,  and  de- 
manded justice,  by  a  rehearing  of  the  matter  in  a 
public  meeting,  to  l»e  appointed  by  joint  agreement. 
Tliis  went  hardly  down  with  the  Bajjtists,  nor  could  it 
be  obtained  from  them  without  great  importunity  and 
hard  pressing.  At  length,  after  many  delays  and 
tricks  used  to  shift  it  off,  constrained  by  necessity,  they 
yielded  to  have  a  meeting  at  theu'  own  meeting-house 
in  Barbican,  London. 

There,  amcmgst  other  friends,  was  T,  and  undertook 
to  read  our  charge  there  agiiinst  Thomas  Hicks,  which 
not  without  much  difficulty  I  did ;  they,  inasmuch  as 
the  house  was  theirs,  putting  all  the  inconvenii  nces 
they  could  upon  us.  The  particular  passages  and 
management  of  this  meeting  (as  also  of  that  other 
which  followed  soon  after,  and  which,  on  their  refusing 
to  give  us  any  other  public  meeting,  Ave  were  fain  to 
appoint  in  our  own  meeting-house,  by  Wheeler  Street, 
near  Spitalfields,  London,  and  gave  them  timely  no- 
tice) I  forbear  here  to  mention ;  there  being  in  ])rint  a 
narrative  of  each,  to  which,  for  ])articular  information, 
I  refer  the  reader. 

But  to  this  meeting  Thomas  Hicks  would  not  come, 
but  lodged  himself  at  an  alehouse  hard  by  ;  yet  sent 
his  brother  Ives,  with  some  others  of  the  party,  by 
clamorous  noises  to  divert  us  from  the  prosecution  of 
our  charge  against  him,  which  they  so  effectually  per- 
formed that  they  would  not  suffer  the  charge  to  be 
heard,  tliough  often  attempted  to  be  read. 

As  this  rude  l)ehavior  of  theirs  was  a  cause  of  grief 
to  me,  so  afterwards,  when  I  understood  that  tliey  used 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  353 

all  evasive  tricks  to  avoid  another  meeting  with  us,  and 
refused  to  do  us  right,  my  spirit  was  greatly  stirred  at 
their  injustice,  and  in  the  sense  thereof,  willing,  if  pos- 
sible, to  provoke  them  to  more  foir  and  manly  dealing, 
I  let  fly  a  broadside  at  them,  in  a  single  sheet  of  paper, 
under  the  title  of  "A  Fresh  Pursuit "  ;  in  which,  having 
restated  the  controversy  between  them  and  us,  and  re- 
inforced our  charge  of  forgery,  etc.  against  Thomas 
Hicks  and  his  abettors,  I  offered  a  fair  challenge  to 
them  (not  only  to  Thomas  Hicks  himself,  but  to  all 
those  his  compurgators  who  had  before  undertaken  to 
acquit  him  from  our  charge,  together  with  their  com- 
panion Jeremy  Ives)  to  give  me  a  fair  and  public  meet- 
ing, in  which  I  would  make  good  our  charge  against 
him  as  principal,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  as  accesso- 
ries. But  nothing  could  provoke  them  to  come  fairly 
forth. 

Hitherto  the  war  I  had  been  engaged  in  was  in  a  sort 
foreign,  with  people  of  other  religious  persuasions, 
such  as  were  open  and  avowed  enemies ;  but  now  an- 
other sort  of  war  arose,  an  intestine  war,  raised  l>y 
some  among  ourselves ;  such  as  had  once  been  of  us, 
and  yet  retained  the  same  profession,  and  would  have 
been  thought  to  be  of  us  stUl ;  but  having,  through 
ill-grounded  jealousies,  let  in  discontents,  and  there- 
upon fallen  into  jangling,  chiefly  about  church  disci- 
pline, they  at  length  broke  into  an  open  schism, 
headed  by  two  Northern  men  of  name  and  note,  John 
Wilkinson  and  John  Story.  The  latter  of  whom, 
as  being  the  most  active  and  popular  man,  having 
gained  a  considerable  interest  in  the  West,  carried  the 
controversy  with  him  thither,  and  there  spreading  it, 
drew  many,  too  many,  to  abet  him  therein. 

Among  those,  William  liogers,  a  merchant  of  Bris- 


354  THE   LIFE   OF 

tol,  was  not  the  least,  nor  least  accounted  of,  hy  himself 
and  some  others.  He  was  a  hold  and  an  active  man, 
moderately  learned,  hut  immoderately  conceited  of  his 
own  parts  and  ahilities,  Avhich  made  him  forward  to  en- 
gage, as  thinking  none  would  dare  to  take  up  the  gaunt- 
let he  should  cast  down.  This  high  opinion  of  himself 
made  him  rather  a  trouhlesome  than  a  formidable  enemy. 

That  I  may  here  step  over  the  various  steps  by 
whicli  he  advanced  to  open  hostility  (as  what  I  was  not 
actually  or  personally  engaged  in),  he  in  a  while  ar- 
rived to  that  height  of  folly  and  wickedness,  that  he 
wrote  and  published  a  large  book  in  five  parts,  to 
which  he  maliciously  gave  for  a  title,  '*  The  Christian 
Quaker  distinguislied  from  the  Apostate  and  Innova- 
tor"; thereby  arrogating  to  himself  and  those  who 
were  of  his  party,  the  topping  style  of  ''  Christian 
Quaker,"  and  no  less  impitiusly  than  uncharitably 
branding  and  rejecting  all  others,  even  the  main  body 
of  Friends,  for  apostates  and  innovators. 

AVhon  this  book  came  abroad,  it  was  not  a  little  (and 
he  for  its  sake)  cried  up  by  his  injudicious  admirers, 
whose  applause  setting  his  head  afloat,  he  came  up  to 
London  at  the  time  of  the  Yearly  Meeting  then  f(dl<)W- 
ing,  and  at  the  close  thereof,  gave  notice  in  Avriting  to 
this  efftict,  viz.  that  "if  any  were  dissatisfied  with  his 
book,  he  was  there  ready  to  maintain  and  defend  both  it 
and  himself  against  all  comers."  This  daring  challenge 
was  neither  dreaded  nor  sliglited,  but  an  answer  was 
forthwith  returned  in  writing,  signed  by  a  few  Friends, 
amongst  whom  I  was  one,  to  let  him  know  that,  as  many 
were  dissatisfied  with  his  book  and  hhn,  he  should  not 
fail,  God  willing,  to  be  met  by  the  sixth  hour,  next 
morning,  at  the  meeting- place,  at  Devonshire  House. 

Accordingly  we  met,  and  continued  the  meeting  till 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  355 

noon  or  after,  iu  which  tune  he,  surrounded  with  such 
of  his  own  party  as  might  abet  and  assist  liim,  was 
so  fairly  foiled  and  hafhed,  and  so  fully  exposed,  that 
he  was  glad  to  quit  the  place,  and,  early  next  morn- 
ing, the  town  also  ;  leaving,  in  excuse  for  his  going  so 
abruptly  off,  and  thereby  refusing  us  another  meeting 
with  him,  which  we  had  earnestly  provoked  him  to, 
this  slight  shift,  that  he  had  before  given  earnest  for 
his  passage  iu  the  stage-coach  home,  and  was  not  will- 
ing to  lose  it." 

I  had  bef(jre  this  gotten  a  sight  of  his  book,  and 
procured  one  for  my  use  on  this  occasion,  but  I  had 
not  time  to  read  it  through ;  but  a  while  after.  Prov- 
idence cast  another  of  them  into  my  liands  very  un- 
expectedly, for  our  dear  friend  George  Fox,  passing 
through  this  country  among  Friends,  and  lying  in  his 
journey  at  my  house,  had  one  of  them  in  his  bags, 
which  he  had  made  some  marginal  notes  upon.  For 
that  good  man,  like  Juhus  Caesar,  willing  to  improve 
all  parts  of  his  time,  did  usually,  even  iu  his  travels, 
dictate  to  his  amanuensis  what  he  would  have  com- 
mitted to  writing.  I  knew  not  that  he  had  this  book 
with  him,  for  he  had  not  said  anything  to  me  of  it, 
till  going  in  the  morning  into  his  chamber,  while  he 
was  dressing  himself,  I  found  it  lying  on  the  table  by 
him.  And,  understanding  that  he  was  going  but  for 
a  few  weeks,  to  visit  Friends  in  tlie  meetings  here- 
abouts, and  the  n(;ighboring  parts  of  Oxford  and  Berk- 
shire, and  so  return  through  this  county  again,  I 
made  bold  to  ask  him  if  he  would  favor  me  so  much 
as  to  leave  it  with  me  till  his  return,  that  I  might 
have  the  opportunity  of  reading  it  through.  He  con- 
sented, and  as  soon  almost  as  he  was  gone,  I  set 
myself  to  read  it  over.     But  I  had  not  gone  far  in  it, 


oiJG  THE   LIFE   OF 

ere,  observing  the  many  f<-)ul  falsehoods,  malicious 
slaiiilcTh;,  gross  porvorsious,  aud  false  doctrines,  abound- 
ing in  it,  the  sense  thereof  iutianied  my  breast  with  a 
just  and  holy  indignation  against  the  work,  aud  that 
devilish  spirit  in  which  it  was  brought  forth ;  w'here- 
fore,  finding  my  spirit  raised,  and  my  understanding 
divinely  opened  to  refute  it,  I  began  the  book  agaiu, 
and  reading  it  with  pen  in  hand,  answered  it  para- 
graphically  as  1  went.  And  so  clear  were  the  open- 
ings I  received  from  the  Lord  therein,  that  by  the  time 
iny  friend  came  back,  I  had  gone  through  the  greatest 
part  of  it,  aud  w^as  too  far  engaged  in  spirit  to  think 
of  giving  over  the  work ;  Avherefore,  requesting  him 
to  continue  the  book  a  little  longer  with  me,  I  soou 
after  finished  the  answer,  which,  with  Friends'  appro- 
bation, was  printed,  under  the  title  of  "  An  Antidote 
against  the  Infection  of  William  Rogers's  Book,  mis- 
called '  The  Christian  Quaker,' "  etc.  This  was  M-rit- 
ten  in  the  year  1682.  But  no  answer  was  given  to  it, 
so  far  as  I  have  ever  heard,  either  by  him  or  any  other 
of  his  party,  though  many  others  were  concerned 
therein,  and  some  by  name.  Perhaps  there  might  be 
a  hand  of  Providence  overruling  them  therein,  to  .give 
me  leisure  to  attend  some  other  services,  which  soon 
after  fell  upon  me. 

For  it  being  a  stormy  time,  and  persecution  waxing 
hot  upon  the  Conventicle  Act,  through  the  busy  bold- 
ness of  hungi-y  informers,  who  for  their  own  advan- 
tage did  not  only  themselves  hunt  after  religious  and 
peaceable  meetings,  but  drove  on  the  officers,  not  only 
the  more  inferior  aud  subordiiuite,  but,  in  some  places, 
even  the  justices  also,  for  f(*ar  of  penalties,  to  hunt 
with  them  and  for  them,  I  found  a  pressure  upon  my 
spirit  to  write  a  small  treatise,  to  inform  such  officers 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  357 

how  tlipy  mi2,lit  socure  and  dofcnd  themselves  from 
being  ridden  l)y  Ihuye  malapert  informers  and  made 
their  drudges. 

This  treatise  I  called,  ''A  Caution  to  Constables, 
and  other  inferior  Otiieers,  concerned  in  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Conventicle  Act ;  with  some  Obsei'vatious 
thereupon,  humbly  offered  by  way  of  Advice  to  such 
well-meaning  and  moderate  Justices  of  the  Peace,  as 
would  not  willingly  ruin  their  peaceable  Neighbors," 
etc.  This  was  thought  to  have  some  good  service 
where  it  came,  npon  such  sober  and  moderate  officers, 
as  well  justices  as  constables,  etc.  as  acted  rather  by 
constraint  than  choice;  by  encouraging  them  to  stand 
their  ground,  with  more  courage  and  resolution  against 
the  insults  of  saucy  informers. 

But,  whatever  ease  it  brought  to  others,  it  brought 
me  some  trouble,  and  had  like  to  have  brought  me 
into  more  danger,  had  not  Providence  wrought  my 
deliverance  by  an  unexpected  way.  For  as  soon  as 
it  came  forth  in  print,  which  was  in  the  year  1683, 
one  William  Ayrs,  of  Watford,  in  Hertfordshire,  a 
friend  and  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  was  both  an 
apothecary  and  barber,  being  acquainted  with  divers 
of  the  gentry  in  those  parts,  and  going  often  to  some 
of  their  houses  to  trim  them,  took  one  of  these  books 
with  him  when  he  went  to  trim  Sir  Benjamin  Titch- 
born,  of  liickmansworth,  and  presented  it  to  him,  sup- 
posing he  would  have  taken  it  kindly,  as  in  like  cases 
he  had  formerly  done.  But  it  fell  out  otherwise.  For 
lie  looking  it  over  after  Ayrs  was  gone,  and  taking  it 
by  the  wrong  handle,  entertained  an  evil  (tpinion  of  it, 
and  of  me  for  it,  though  he  knew  me  not. 

lie  thercujx»n  communicated  both  the  book  and  liis 
thoughts  upon  it  to  a  neighboring  justice,  living  in 


358  THE   LIFE  OF 

Rickmansworth,  whose  name  was  Thomas  Fotherly  ; 
who  concurring  with  liim  in  judgment,  they  concluded 
that  I  should  he  taken  up  and  prosecuted  for  h,  as  a 
seditious  hook,  for  a  lihel  they  could  not  call  it,  my  name 
being  to  it  at  length. 

Wherefore  sending  for  Ayrs,  who  had  brought  the 
book,  Justice  Titchborn  examined  him  if  he  knew  me, 
and  where  I  dwelt.  Who  telling  him  he  knew  me  well, 
and  had  been  often  at  my  house,  he  gave  him  in  charge 
to  give  me  notice  that  I  should  appear  before  him  and 
the  other  justice  at  Rickmansworth  on  such  a  day ; 
threatening  that  if  I  did  not  appear,  he  himself  should 
be  prosecuted  for  spreading  the  book. 

This  put  William  Ayrs  in  a  fright.  Over  he  came  in 
haste  with  this  message  to  me,  troubled  that  he  should 
be  a  means  to  bring  me  into  trouble.  But  I  endeavored 
to  give  him  ease,  by  assuring  hhn  I  would  not  foil,  witli 
God's  leave,  to  appear  at  the  time  and  place  appointed, 
and  thereby  free  him  from  trouble  or  danger.  In  the  in- 
terim I  received  advice,  by  an  express  out  of  Sussex,  that 
Guli  Penn,  with  whom  I  had  had  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance and  firm  friendship  from  our  very  youths,  was 
very  dangerously  ill,  her  husband  being  then  absent  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  that  she  had  a  great  desire  to  see 
and  speak  with  me. 

This  put  me  to  a  great  strait,  and  brought  a  sore 
exercise  on  my  mind.  I  was  divided  betwixt  honor 
and  friendship.  I  had  engaged  my  word  to  appear  be- 
fore the  justices;  which  to  omit  would  bring  dishonor 
on  me  and  my  profession.  To  stay  till  that  time  was 
come  and  past  might  pn drably  prove,  if  I  should  then 
be  left  at  liberty,  too  late  to  answer  her  desire,  and 
satisfy  friendship. 

After  some  little  deliberation,  I  resolved,  as  the  best 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  359 

expedient  to  answer  both  ends,  to  go  over  next  morning 
to  the  justices,  and  lay  my  strait  before  them,  and  try 
if  I  coukl  procure  from  them  a  respite  of  my  appearance 
before  them,  until  I  had  been  in  Sussex,  and  paid  the 
duty  of  friendship  to  my  sick  friend :  which  I  had  the 
more  hopes  to  obtain  because  I  knew  those  justices  had 
a  great  respect  for  Guli;  for  when  William  Penu  and 
she  were  first  married  they  lived  for  some  years  at 
llickmausworth,  in  which  time  they  contracted  a  neigh- 
borly friendship  with  both  these  justices  and  theirs, 
who  ever  after  retained  a  kind  regard  for  them  both. 

Early  therefore  in  the  morning  I  rode  over.  But 
being  wholly  a  stranger  to  the  justices,  I  went  first  to 
Watford,  that  I  might  take  Ayrs  along  with  me,  who 
supposed  himself  to  have  some  interest  in  Justice 
Titchborn ;  and  when  I  came  there,  understanding  that 
another  Friend  of  that  town,  whose  name  was  John 
AVells,  was  well  acquainted  with  the  other  justice, 
Fothcrly,  having  imparted  to  them  the  occasion  of 
my  coming,  I  to(dc  thenr  both  with  me,  and  hasted 
back  to  llickmausworth.  Where,  having  put  our 
horses  up  at  an  inn,  and  leaving  William  Ayrs  (who 
Avas  a  stranger  to  Fotherly)  there,  I  went  with  John 
Wells  to  Fotherly's  house ;  and  being  brought  into  a 
fair  hall,  1  tarried  there  while  Wells  went  into  the  par- 
lor to  liim  ;  and  having  acquainted  him  that  I  was 
tliere,  and  desired  to  speak  with  hiin,  brought  him  to 
me  with  sc^verity  in  his  countenance. 

After  he  liad  asked  me,  in  a  tone  which  spake  dis- 
pleasure, what  I  had  to  say  to  him,  I  told  him  I  came 
to  wait  on  him  upou  an  intimation  given  me  that  he 
liad  sometliiug  to  .s;iy  to  me.  lb;  tliereupon,  plucking 
my  book  out  of  liis  pociiet,  asked  me  if  1  owned  my- 
self to  be  till!  author  of  that  book.     I  told  him,  if  lie 


o 


60  THE   LIFE   OF 


pleased  to  let  me  look  into  it,  if  it  were  mine  I  would 
not  deny  it.  He  thereupon  giving  it  into  my  hand, 
when  I  had  turned  over  the  leaves  and  looked  it 
through,  finding  it  to  be  as  it  came  from  the  press,  I 
told  him  I  wrote  the  book,  and  would  own  it,  aU  but 
the  errors  of  the  press.  Whereupon  he,  looking  sternly 
on  me,  answered,  "Your  own  errors  you  should  have 
said." 

Having  innocency  on  my  side,  I  was  not  at  all 
daunted  at  either  his  speech  or  looks ;  but,  feeling  the 
Lord  present  with  me,  I  replied,  '-I  know  there  are- 
errors  of  the  press  in  it,  and  llierefore  I  excepted  tliem ; 
but  I  do  not  know  there  are  any  of  mine  in  it,  and 
therefore  cannot  except  them.  But,"  added  I,  "  if 
thou  pleasest  to  show  me  any  error  of  mine  in  it,  I 
shall  readily  both  acknowledge  and  retract  it":  and 
thereupon  I  desired  him  to  give  me  an  instance  in  any 
one  passage  in  tliat  book,  wherein  he  thought  I  had 
erred.  He  said  he  needed  not  go  to  particulars,  but 
charged  me  with  the  general  contents  of  the  whole 
book.  I  replied  that  such  a  charge  would  be  too 
general  for  me  to  give  a  particular  answer  to;  but  if 
he  would  assign  me  any  particular  passage  or  sentence 
in  the  book,  wherein  he  apprehended  the  ground  of 
offence  to  lie,  wlien  I  sliould  have  opened  the  terms, 
and  explained  my  meaning  therein,  he  might  perhaps 
find  cause  to  change  his  mind,  and  entertain  a  better 
opinion  both  of  the  boolc  and  me.  And  therefore  I 
again  entreated  liini  to  let  me  know  wliat  particidar 
passage  or  passages  had  given  him  off"ence.  He  told  me 
I  needed  not  to  be  in  so  much  haste  for  that ;  I  might 
have  it  timely  enough,  if  not  too  soon:  "but  this," 
said  he,  "  is  not  tlie  day  appointed  for  your  hearing  ; 
and  therefore,"  added  he,  "  wliat,  I  pray,  made  you  in 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  361 

such  haste  to  come  now  ?  "  I  told  hiin  I  hoped  he 
woukl  not  take  it  for  an  argument  of  guilt,  that  I  came 
before  I  was  sent  for,  and  offered  myself  to  my  purga- 
tion before  the  time  ai)poiuted.  And  this  I  spake  with 
somewhat  a  brisker  aii*,  which  had  so  much  influence 
on  him  as  to  bring  a  somewhat  softer  air  over  his 
countenance. 

Then  going  on,  I  told  him  I  had  a  particular  occa- 
sicni  which  induced  me  to  come  now,  which  was,  that 
1  received  advice  last  night,  by  an  express  out  of  Sus- 
sex, that  William  Penn's  wife,  with  whom  I  had  had 
an  intimate  acquaintance  and  strict  friendship,  ah  ijjsis 
fere  incunabtdis,*  at  least  a  teneris  unguiculis,]  lay 
now  there  very  ill,  not  without  great  danger,  in  the 
apprehension  of  those  about  her,  of  her  life ;  and  that 
she  had  exjiressed  her  desire  that  I  would  come  to  her 
as  soon  as  I  could  ;  the  rather,  for  that  her  husband 
was  absent  in  America.  That  this  had  brought  a  great 
strait  upon  me,  being  divided  between  friendship  and 
duty;  willing  to  visit  my  friend  in  her  illness,  which 
the  nature  and  law  of  friendship  required;  yet  unwill- 
ing to  omit  my  duty  by  fiviling  of  my  appearance 
before  him  and  the  other  justice,  according  to  their 
command  and  my  {)romise  ;  lest  I  should  thereby  sub- 
ject, not  my  own  reputation  only,  but  the  reputation 
of  iny  religious  profession  to  the  suspicion  of  guilt, 
and  censure  of  willingly  shunning  a  trial.  To  prevent 
which  1  had  chosen  to  anticipates  the  time,  and  come 
now,  to  see  if  I  could  give  them  satisfnction  in  what 
they  had  to  object  against  me,  and  thereupon  being 
dismis.scd,  mii^ht  jtursue  my  journey  into  Sussex;  or 
if  by  them  detained,  to  submit  to  Providence,  and  by 
au  express  to  acquaint  my  friend   tiierewith,  both  to 

*  Almost  fiojii  our  cradle.  f  rroiii  our  tender  ajre. 


362  THE   LIFE   OF 

free  her  from  an  expectation  of  my  coming,  and  my- 
self from  any  imputation  of  neglect. 

While  I  thus  delivered  myself,  I  observed  a  sensible 
alteration  in  the  justice  ;  and  when  I  had  done  speak- 
ing, he  first  said  he  was  very  sorry  for  Madam  Penn's 
illness,  of  whose  virtue  and  worth  he  spake  very 
highly,  yet  not  more  than  was  her  due.  Then  he  told 
me,  that  for  her  sake  he  would  do  what  he  could  to 
further  my  visit  to  her  ;  "but,"  said  he,  "I  am  l)ut 
(me,  and  of  myself  can  do  nothing  in  it;  therefore  you 
must  go  to  Sir  Benjamin  Titchborn,  and  if  he  be  at 
home,  see  if  you  can  prevail  with  him  to  meet  me, 
that  we  may  consider  of  it. 

"But  I  can  assure  you,"  added  he,  "the  matter 
which  will  be  laid  to  your  charge  concerning  your 
book  is  of  greater  imjxirtance  than  you  seem  to  think 
it.  For  your  book  has  been  laid  before  the  king  and 
council ;  and  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  who  is  one  of 
the  council,  hath  thereupon  given  us  command  to  ex- 
amine you  about  it,  and  secure  you." 

"  1  wish,"  said  I,  "  I  could  speak  with  the  earl  my- 
self, for  I  make  no  doubt  but  to  acquaint  myself  unto 
him  ;  and,"  added  T,  "if  thou  pleasest  to  give  me  thy 
letter  to  him,  I  will  wait  upon  him  with  it  forthwith. 
For  although  I  know,"  continued  I,  "  that  he  hath  no 
favor  for  any  of  my  persuasion,  yet  knowing  myself 
to  be  wholly  innocent  in  this  matter,  I  can  with  confi- 
dence apjjcar  bef(jre  him,  or  even  before  the  king  in 
council." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  see  you  are  confident ;  but  for 
all  that,  let  m(^  tell  you,  how  good  soever  your  inten- 
tion was,  you  timed  the  publishing  of  your  book  very 
unluckily;  for  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that  there  is  a 
very  dangerous  plot  lately  discovered,  contrived  by  the 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  363 

dissenters,  against  the  government  and  Iiis  majesty's 
life."  (This  was  the  Rye-plot,  then  newly  hmke 
forth,  and  laid  upon  the  Presbyterians.)  "  And  for 
you,"  added  he,  "  to  publish  a  book  just  at  that  junc- 
ture of  time  to  discourage  the  magistrates  and  other 
officers  from  putting  in  execution  those  laws  which 
wei'e  made  to  suppress  their  meetings,  looks,  I  must 
tell  you,  but  with  a  scurvy  countenance  upon  you." 

"  If,"  replied  I,  with  somewhat  a  pleasauter  air, 
"there  was  any  mistiming  in  the  case,  it  must  lie 
on  the  part  of  those  jjlotters,  for  timing  the  breaking 
forth  of  their  plot  while  my  book  was  a  printing  ;  for 
I  can  bring  very  good  proof  that  my  book  was  in  the 
press,  and  wellnigh  wrought  off,  before  any  man 
talked  or  knew  of  a  plot,  but  those  who  were  in  it." 

Here  our  discourse  ended,  and  I,  taking  for  the  pres- 
ent my  leave  of  him,  went  to  my  horse,  and,  changing 
iny  companion,  rode  to  Justice  Titchborn's,  having  with 
me  William  Ayrs,  who  was  best  acquainted  with  him, 
and  who  had  casually  brought  this  trouble  on  me. 
When  he  had  introduced  me  to  Titchborn,  I  gave  him 
a  like  account  of  the  occasion  of  my  coming  at  that 
time,  as  I  had  before  given  to  the  other  justice.  And 
both  he  and  his  lady,  who  was  present,  expressed  much 
concern  for  Guli  Penn's  illness.  I  found  this  man  to 
be  of  quite  another  temper  than  Justice  Fotherly  ;  for 
this  man  was  smooth,  soft,  and  ttily,  whereas  the  other 
was  rather  rough,  s(>vere,  and  sharp.  Yet,  at  the  wind- 
ing up,  I  found  Fotherly  my  truest  fiiend. 

When  I  had  told  Sir  Benjamin  Titchborn  that  I 
came  from  Justices  Fotherly,  and  re([U(\stcd  Jiim  to  give 
him  a  meeting  to  considcsr  of  my  business,  he  readily 
without  hesitation  told  me  he  would  go  with  me  to 
liickmansworth,    from   which   his   house  was   distant 


o 


64  THE   LIFE   OF 


about  a  mile ;  and,  calling  for  his  horses,    mounted 
immediately ;  and  to  Kickmansworth  we  rode. 

After  they  had  been  a  little  while  together,  I  was 
called  in  before  them ;  and  in  the  first  place  they 
examined  nie  as  to  "  what  was  my  intention  and 
design  in  writing  that  book."  I  told  them  the  in- 
troductory part  of  it  gave  a  plain  account  of  it,  viz. 
"  That  it  was  to  get  ease  from  the  penalties  of  a  severe 
law,  —  often  executed  with  too  great  a  severity  by  un- 
skilful officers,  who  were  driven  on  beyond  the  bounds 
of  their  duty,  by  the  impetuous  threats  of  a  sort  of  inso- 
lent fellows,  as  needy  as  greedy,  M'ho,  for  their  own 
advantage,  sought  our  ruin."  To  prevent  which  was 
the  design  and  drift  of  that  book,  by  acquainting  such 
officers  how  they  might  safely  demean  themselves  in 
the  execution  of  their  offices,  towards  their  honest 
and  peaceable  neighbors,  without  ruining  either  their 
neighbors  or  themselves,  to  enrich  some  of  the  worst 
of  men.  And  I  humbly  conceived  it  was  neither  un- 
lawful nor  unreasonable  for  a  sufferer  to  do  tliis,  so 
long  as  it  was  done  in  a  fair,  sober,  and  jjcaceable  way. 

They  then  put  me  in  mind  of  the  plot ;  told  me  it 
was  a  troublesome  and  dangerous  time,  and  my  book 
might  be  construed  to  import  sedition,  in  discouraging 
the  officers  from  putting  the  laws  in  execution,  as  by 
law  and  by  their  oath  they  were  bound.  And  in  fine 
they  brought  it  to  this  issue,  that  they  were  directed  to 
secure  me  by  a  commitment  to  prison  until  the  assize, 
at  which  I  should  receive  a  farther  charge  than  they 
were  provided  now  to  give  me ;  but  because  they  were 
desirous  to  fijrward  my  visit  to  ]\Iadam  Penn,  they  told 
me  they  would  admit  me  to  bail,  and  therefore,  if  I 
W(juld  enter  a  recognizance,  with  sufficient  sureties,  for 
my  appearance  at  the  next  assize,  they  would  leave  me 
at  liberty  to  go  on  my  journey. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  3G5 

I  told  them  I  could  not  do  it.  They  said  they  would 
give  me  as  little  trouble  as  they  could,  and  therefore 
tlicy  would  uot  put  me  to  seek  bail;  but  would  accept 
those  two  frieuds  of  uiiue,  who  were  then  present,  to 
be  bound  with  me  for  my  appearance. 

I  let  them  know  my  strait  lay  not  in  the  difficulty  of 
procuring  sureties,  for  I  did  suppose  myself  to  have 
sufficient  acquaintance  and  credit  in  that  place,  if  on 
such  an  occasion  I  could  be  free  to  use  it ;  but,  as  I 
knew  myself  to  be  an  innocent  man,  I  had  not  satis- 
faction in  myself  to  desire  others  to  be  bound  for  me,  or 
to  enter  myself  into  a  recognizance;  that  carrying  in  it, 
to  my  aj^prehension,  a 'reflection  on  my  innocency,  and 
the  reputation  of  my  Christian  profession. 

Here  we  stuck  and  struggled  about  this  a  pretty 
while,  till  at  lengtli,  finding  me  fixed  in  my  judgment, 
and  resolved  rather  to  go  to  prison  than  give  bail, 
they  asked  me  if  I  was  against  appearing,  or  only 
against  being  bound  with  sureties  to  appear.  I  told 
them  I  was  not  against  appearing ;  which  as  I  could 
not  avoid  if  I  would,  so  I  would  not  if  I  might;  but 
was  ready  and  willing  to  appear,  if  required,  to  answer 
whatsoever  should  be  charged  against  me.  But  in  any 
case  of  a  religious  nature,  or  wherein  my  Christian 
profession  was  concerned,  which  I  took  this  case  to  be, 
I  could  not  yield  to  give  any  other  or  farther  security 
than  my  word  or  promise  as  a  Christian, 

They,  unwilling  to  commit  me,  took  hold  of  that 
and  asked  if  I  would  promise  to  appear.  I  answered, 
'*Yes;  with  due  limitations."  ''What  do  you  mean 
by  due  limitations?"  said  they.  "I  mean,"  replied 
I,  "  if  I  am  not  disabled  or  prevented  by  sickness  or 
imprisonment;  for,"  added  I,  "  as  you  alleg«!  that  it  is 
a  troublesome  time,  I  perhaps  may  find  it  so.     1  may 


366  THE   LIFE   OF 

for  aught  I  know  be  seized  and  imprisoned  elsewhere 
on  the  same  account  for  which  I  now  stand  here  before 
you  ;  and  if  I  should,  how  thou  could  I  appear  at  the 
assize  in  this  county?"  "0,"  said  tliey,  "these  are 
due  limitations  indeed!  Sickness  or  imprisonment  are 
lawful  excuses,  and  if  either  of  these  befall  you,  we 
shall  not  expect  your  apiiearance  here;  but  then  you 
nmst  certify  to  us  that  you  are  so  disabled  by  sickness 
or  restraint." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "how  shall  I  know  Avhen  and  where 
I  shall  wait  upon  you  again  after  my  return  from 
Sussex'?"  "You  need  not,"  said  they,  "trouble 
yourself  about  that;  we  will  take  care  to  give  you 
notice  of  both  time  and  place,  and  till  you  hear  from 
us  you  may  dispose  yourself  as  you  please." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  I  do  promise  you  that,  when 
I  shall  have  received  from  you  a  fresh  command  to 
appear  befoi'e  you,  I  will,  if  the  Lord  permit  me  life, 
health,  and  liberty,  appear  when  and  where  you  shall 
appoint."  "It  is  enough,"  said  they  ;  "we -will  take 
your  word."  And,  desiring  me  to  give  their  hearty 
respects  and  service  to  Madam  Penn,  they  dismissed 
me  with  their  good  wishes  for  a  good  journey. 

I  was  sensible  that  in  this  they  had  dealt  very  favor- 
ably and  kindly  with  me ;  therefore  I  could  not  but 
acknowledge  to  them  the  sense  I  had  thereof.  Whicli 
done,  I  took  leave  of  them,  and,  mounting,  returned 
home  with  what  haste  I  could,  to  let  my  wife  l:now 
how  I  had  sped.  And,  having  given  her  a  summary 
account  of  the  business,  I  took  horse  again,  and  went 
so  far  that  evening  towards  Wonninghurst  that  I  got 
thither  pretty  early  next  morning,  and,  to  my  great 
satisfaction,  found  my  friend  in  a  hopeful  way  towards 
a  recovery. 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  3G7 

I  stayed  some  days  with  her ;  and  then,  finding  her 
illness  wear  daily  off,  and  some  other  friends  being 
come  from  London  to  visit  her,  I  (mindful  (if  my  en- 
gagement to  the  justices,  and  unwilling  hy  too  long  an 
absence  to  give  them  occasion  to  suspect  I  was  willing 
to  avoid  their  summons),  leaving  those  other  friends  to 
bear  her  company  longer,  took  my  leave  of  her  and 
them,  and  set  my  face  homewards,  carrying  with  ine 
the  welcome  account  of  my  friend's  recovery. 

Being  returned  home,  I  waited  in  daily  expectation 
of  a  command  from  the  justices  to  appear  again  before 
them,  but  none  came.  I  spake  with  those  Friends 
who  had  been  with  me  when  I  was  before  them,  and 
tliey  said  they  had  heard  nothing  of  it  from  them, 
although  they  had  since  been  in  company  with  them. 
At  length  the  assize  came,  but  no  notice  was  given  to 
me  that  I  should  appear  there;  in  fine,  they  never 
troubled  themselves  nor  me  any  farther  about  it. 

Thus  was  a  cloud,  that  looked  black  and  threatened 
a  great  storm,  blown  gently  over  by  a  providential 
l»reath,  which  I  could  not  but,  with  a  thanlcfid  mind, 
acknowledge  to  the  all-great,  all-good,  all-wise  Dis- 
poser, in  whose  hand  and  at  whose  command  are  tlie 
hearts  of  all  men,  even  the  greatest  ;  and  who  turns 
their  counsels,  disappoints  their  purposes,  and  defeats 
their  designs  and  contrivances,  as  he  pleases.  For  if 
my  dear  friend  Guli  Penn  had  not  fellen  sick,  if  I  had 
not  thereupon  been  sent  for  to  her,  I  had  not  prevented 
the  time  of  my  appearance,  but  had  app(>ared  on  the 
day  appointed  ;  and,  as  I  afterwards  understood,  that 
was  the  day  ajijiointed  for  the  appearance  of  a  great 
many  persons  of  the  dissenting  party  in  tliat  side  of  tlie 
county,  who  were  to  be  taken  up  and  secured,  on  the 
account  of  tlie  aforementioned  plot,  whicli  had  been 


368  THE   LIFE   OF 

cast  upon  the  Presbyterians.  So  that  if  I  had  then 
appeared  with  and  amongst  them ,  I  had  in  all  likelihood 
been  sent  to  jail  with  them  for  com^jany,  and  that 
under  the  imputation  of  a  j^lotter,  than  which  nothing 
was  more  contrary  to  my  profession  and  inclination. 

But  though  I  came  off  so  easy,  it  fared  not  S(j  well 
with  others ;  for,  the  storm  increasing,  many  Friends  in 
divers  parts,  both  of  city  and  country,  suffered  greatly  ; 
the  sense  whereof  did  deeply  aft'ect  me,  and  the  more, 
for  that  I  observed  the  magistrates,  not  thinking  the; 
laws  which  had  been  made  against  us  severe  enough, 
perverted  the  law  in  order  to  punish  us.  For,  calling 
our  peaceable  meetings  riots  (which,  in  the  legal  noticni 
of  the  word  "  riot,"  is  a  contradiction  in  terms)  they  in- 
dicted our  Friends  as  rioters  for  only  sitting  in  a  meet- 
ing, though  nothing  was  there  either  said  or  done  by 
them,  and  then  set  tines  on  them  at  pleasure. 

This  I  knew  to  be  not  only  against  right  and  justice, 
but  even  against  law  ;  and  it  troubled  me  to  think  that 
we  should  be  made  to  suffer  not  only  by  laws  made 
directly  against  us,  but  even  by  laws  that  did  not  at  all 
concern  us.  Nor  was  it  long  before  I  had  occasion 
offered  more  thoroughly  to  consider  this  matter. 

For  a  justice  of  the  peace  in  this  county,  who  was 
called  Sir  Dennis  Hampson,  of  Tai)low,  breaking  in 
with  a  party  of  horse  upon  a  little  meeting  near 
Wooburn,  in  his  neighborhood,  the  first  of  the  fiftli 
month,  1G83,  sent  most  of  tlie  men,  to  the  number  of 
twenty-three,  whom  he  found  there,  to  Aylesbury 
prison,  though  mot^t  of  tliem  were  poor  men  who 
lived  by  their  labor;  and,  not  going  himself  to  the 
next  quarter  sessions  at  Buckingham,  on  the  12th  of 
the  same  month,  sent  his  clerk,  with  direction  that 
they  sliould  be  indicted  for  a  not.     Thither  the  pris- 


THOMAS   ELLWOOD.  369 

oners  were  carried,  and  indicted  accordingly ;  and, 
being  pressed  by  the  court  to  traverse  and  give  bail, 
they  moved  to  be  tried  forthwith,  but  that  was  denied 
them.  And  they,  giving  in  writing  the  reason  of 
their  refusing  bail  and  fees,  were  remanded  to  prison 
till  the  next  quarter- sessions  ;  but  William  Wood- 
house  was  again  bailed,  as  he  had  been  before ;  and 
William  Mason  and  John  Eeeve,  not  being  Friends, 
but  casually  taken  at  that  meeting,  entered  recogni- 
zance as  the  court  desired,  and  so  were  released  till 
next  sessions  ;  before  which  time  Mason  died,  and 
Eeeve  being  sick  appeared  not,  but  got  himself  taken 
off.  And  in  the  eighth  month  following,  the  twenty- 
one  prisoners  that  remained  were  brought  to  trial ;  a 
jury  was  found  who  brought  in  a  pretended  verdict 
that  they  were  guilty  of  a  riot,  for  only  sitting  peace- 
ably together,  without  a  word  or  action  ;  and  though 
there  was  no  proclamation  made,  nor  they  required 
to  depart.  But  one  of  the  jurymen  afterwards  did 
confess  he  knew  not  what  a  riot  was ;  yet  the  pris- 
oners were  fined  a  noble  apiece,  and  recommitted 
to  prison  during  life  (a  hard  sentence)  or  the  king's 
pleasure,  or  until  they  should  pay  the  said  fines. 
William  Woodhouse  was  forthwith  discharged,  by  his 
kinsman's  paying  the  fine  and  fees  for  him.  Thomas 
Dell  and  Edward  Moore  also,  by  other  people  of  the 
world  paying  their  fines  and  fees  for  them ;  and  shortly 
after  Stephen  Pewsey,  by  the  town  and  parish  where 
he  lived,  for  fear  his  wife  and  children  should  become 
a  charge  upon  them.  Tlie  otlier  seventeen  remained 
prisoners  till  King  James's  proclamation  of  pardon. 

THE   END. 


Cambridge;  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


/^ 


J>^y^  THE  LIBRARY 

^pO/    J  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

^y"^^^  Santa  Barbara 

STACK  COLLECTION 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATI 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


-ir» 1A     'C0/TP1100^.1N-<'7fiTV 


«««5:5SSS!&^ 


